


Strawberry Lipstick State of Mind

by zeldasayre



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Cheerleaders, F/F, Femme Harry, Girl Direction, Love Letters, Nonbinary Niall Horan, Pen Pals, harriet and louise, mean girl Harry (Harriet), soft butch louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldasayre/pseuds/zeldasayre
Summary: a little bit Mean Girls, a little bit You’ve Got Mail, a little bit She’s All That, a lotta bit the general relationship between the protagonists and the mean girls in 80s teen movies, except the latent homoeroticism is Brought To Life
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 57
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK a general warning and then a little backstory for this fic: For one, there will be discussion of an eating disorder in this fic. There won't be anything graphic, and the discussion will be largely past-tense, but it will be there, so be aware of that. Secondly, more broadly, the beginning of the relationship in this fic is not one which I would consider particularly healthy IRL.  
> Basically, I was watching this video essay on the Mean Girl trope, and it started to talk a little bit about how the mean girl always seems to have this vitriolic, sort of inexplicable level of hatred for the nerd/outcast girl, who is generally the MC.  
> I immediately went into a spiral thinking about all the homoeroticism of the mean girls I know and love-- I mean, that scene in Carrie where mean girl Chris literally pulls away in the middle of making out with her bf to declare out loud how much she hates Carrie? Unreal!  
> So basically this fic is an exploration of all the tropes and character types which seem so blatantly lesbian in nature to me but which have never really been given the opportunity to be explicit about that. (Well. Obviously excluding the greatest film ever made, Jennifer's Body.)  
> The bullying won't be too over-the-top, and Louise definitely isn't a Carrie type-- she has a very thick skin. It's also not going to be an abusive relationship once they get together. But just in case any young people are reading-- never date someone who intentionally tried to hurt you, at any point, for any reason! Seriously!  
> Ok now that that's done. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it!

Harriet Styles was old school popular. She didn’t go for all that “we’re all special in our own way,” “nerds are the new cool,” “high school is just four years, not your whole life” crap that teen movies tried to push to disprove the simple fact that some people were winners, and others were not. She didn’t even go for social media popularity over irl— she didn’t have an Instagram, unless you counted the one kept about her by some underclassmen who worshipped the ground she walked upon.

Harriet Styles knew what she was. She was the number one. Not even her boyfriend, the quarterback, the most popular guy in school, was on her level. She was queen. And she knew that all this crap was meaningless and temporary and wouldn’t matter in the long run. She wasn’t an idiot. But it mattered right now. It mattered here. And here and now, she was number one.

She also wasn’t some amateur who could be knocked off her thrown with a naive misstep. She didn’t genuinely believe that everyone adored her. She knew she was loathed. She lived for it. Feminists abandoned their principles to call her a bitch.

“I hate Franklin parties,” Zaina said. “Do we seriously have to go? I think I would literally rather do homework.”

Harriet turned her head fractionally, raising a brow as her best friend tugged at a tangle in her long black hair. “Jesse wants to go,” Harriet said, shrugging one shoulder.

“Since when do you take orders from him?”

“I take orders from no one,” Harriet said, her voice sharp as her nails, clacking impatiently on the library table. “I’m appeasing him. He asked me to come to some _gaming_ con.”

“ _Ew._ ”

“Exactly. Obviously I said no.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “So I said _yes_ to tonight.”

“Which is going to completely suck.”

The librarian approached them, finally. Were they anyone else, she probably would have been coming over to tell them to keep their voices down. As it was— “Here you go, girls. Thank you so much for your patience.”

“No problem, Mrs. Cain. Thank _you_ for helping us.” Harriet gave the woman her award-winning smile and grabbed the papers from the woman’s hands, turning before she could say another word.

Harriet handed Zaina her altered class schedule as she looked down at her own. No one else at Meadowbrook was allowed any say in their schedules, before or after classes began. But Harriet had been adjusting hers— and Zaina’s— since middle school. She’d always maintained that perfect balance: _students_ feared her. But staff _adored_ her.

Jesse was waiting for her outside the library to take her off campus for lunch. He pushed off the wall with a wide grin and fell into step beside her, taking her bag off her shoulder and slipping it onto his own.

Harriet almost preferred going to the cafeteria, just to see the way people looked at her, the way people wanted her and hated her and the things they’d do to try to be her friend. But she was a senior now, and seniors were the only ones with off campus privileges, and she couldn’t be seen skipping out on those privileges to eat with the underclassmen and the losers who had nowhere else to go.

Liam, the running back, and Zaina’s boyfriend, was waiting for them already in Jesse’s Jeep. He jumped out of the passenger seat the moment he saw them coming and threw himself into the back. Jesse helped Harriet up into her rightful seat and closed the door behind her.

Benny’s Diner was already full of other Meadowbrook students when they arrived. But even with people wedged between stools at the counter, Harriet’s booth was left open, waiting for her and her friends. She slid in first, right into the middle, where she always sat like she was presiding over a court. She tossed her hair over her shoulder as Zaina slipped in on her right and Jesse on her left. The waitress hurried over to them so fast she almost tripped on her own feet.

“The usual?” she asked Harriet, who only nodded. “And for the rest of you?” Because of course she’d only memorized Harriet’s order.

Harriet pulled out her compact when the waitress left, checking her lashes. She was trying those new magnetic ones out. She hadn’t made up her mind yet on whether she liked them or not.

“I am so glad we’re seniors,” Zaina said, as the guys leaned around them to talk about the team. “I don’t want to spend a minute longer on that campus than I have to. Coming here is such a retreat.”

Harriet nodded, though she couldn’t have agreed less. She’d had a great summer, full of parties and lake trips and plenty of time with Jesse. But she was so ready to be back at Meadowbrook. And as thrilled as she was to finally be at the top of the food chain, to finally be in actual class level as she already was on every other standing, she’d been trying not to think at all about the fact that this was her last year. There was no point, anyway. Whoever said high school flew by was an idiot. Even for her, it dragged like nails on a chalkboard. So she wasn’t worried about it— about time slipping away from her, or her golden years passing her by, or whatever. She just also wasn’t necessarily _thrilled_ about the mere idea of leaving Meadowbrook behind.

Zaina grabbed Harriet’s compact out of her hand and pursed her lips. “I don’t know about this shade.”

“You can’t even tell you’re wearing anything,” Harriet said, rolling her eyes and taking the compact back.

“I know. That’s what I’m not sure about.”

Harriet shook her head. “The natural look is over.”

“Well I know _you_ think so,” Zaina said, raising a brow and giving Harriet’s face a once-over. She was right— Harriet had chosen a hot pink eye shadow and a glossy lip that day. She shrugged, unperturbed by Zaina’s obvious uncertainty about the look. Harriet knew people were looking at her. She liked to give them something interesting to ogle.

“I love your makeup, babe,” Jesse chimed in, leaning toward her.

Harriet held up a hand and gave him a passive smile. “Then don’t mess it up.”

He sighed and fell back against the booth.

“I still think we should ditch tonight,” Zaina said. “I heard Andy Claren’s parents are out of town for a conference or something. He’s got a pool.”

“So does Joe,” Jesse said, frowning. “What is your problem, Zaina? Just because he goes to Franklin, you’re too good for a house party?”

“Franklin house parties are nothing but runoff of Meadowbrook house parties, Jesse. Everyone cool will be at Andy’s.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “You mean everyone _rich._ ”

Harriet held up a hand. “Our friends are not all rich, Jesse. They are _smart_ and _motivated._ Their heads aren’t shrouded in clouds of smoke so thick you can’t hear a word out of their idiotic mouths.”

“Whatever. I thought _you_ said we could go tonight.”

“I did. And we will. But Zaina isn’t wrong.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“And Jesse isn’t wrong, either. A party is a party, Zaina.”

Now Zaina rolledher eyes. “Whatever.”

Harriet didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation, through lunch and on the drive back to school. She couldn’t stop thinking about college applications. Or the lack— everyone thought she was going to Princeton. Everyone expected it of her. And it’d always been the plan. But after last year, plans changed. She had an all-but-assured spot at the local university; her older sister worked in admission there and her step-dad was a professor, sort of on the side, like a hobby, on top of being the number one attorney in the county.

Zaina had already applied to Princeton, early decision. She’d applied on pretty much the first day of the semester. And Jesse was going to apply there early action by the end of November. He’d probably even ask Harriet to help him with his application. But she’d have none of her own.

Harriet kept her head up and her face blank as she let Jesse kiss her cheek and walked arm-in-arm with Zaina toward AP Lit.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

Harriet straightened her shoulders and puckered her shiny lips. She always loved that sticky, tacky lip gloss feeling, like she was a mouse trap come to life. She took no prisoners and no one that tried to touch her without her permission left unscathed.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just what to wear tonight.”

“Who cares?” Zaina asked. “It’s not like anyone cool will be there.”

*

Early 2000s pop blasted from obscured or unidentifiable speakers as drunk teenagers yelled over each other and tripped repeatedly over the same ottoman. It was nearing one thirty and nothing of note had happened; no one had suffered any grievous injuries; no one had been caught cheating, at least in any loud and obvious way; no one yet had stripped naked and dove into the wrong end of the pool.

Harriet shoved a Franklin jock out of her way and cast a glance around the living room for anyone interesting. As much as Zaina complained, she’d disappeared ten minutes into this party to do exactly what she did at every party— make out with Liam in a corner for hours on end. She always looked like she’d eaten something she was allergic to when Harriet drove them back to hers.

Jesse was contentedly playing at least his fourth round of beer pong outside, and Alicia, the new co-captain of the Meadowbrook cheer squad since Harriet quit, had taken off at least an hour ago. Harriet ran her tongue over her teeth, glaring at the wall, irritated and bored. Franklin girls and underclassmen kept trying to make conversation with her, and she felt at least three pairs of random guys’ eyes on her even as she pushed herself off of the wall. It was just more of the same. She wanted to talk to Zaina; she wanted more of the Meadowbrook girls to be here; she wanted, frankly, to go home.

Harriet pushed her way toward the carpeted stairs, curling her lip in distaste as she stepped over a spill stain. The first door on the second floor opened onto an occupied bedroom, the second was locked. She glanced around herself. A dude in a low beanie with eyes so bloodshot he looked like he had pink-eye stared at her with a palpable hunger that made her blood boil. She strode toward him.

“Bathroom?”

He nodded toward the opposite door. It was unlocked, so she pushed it open, taking a step inside before looking up. Then she did look up, and immediately froze.

Some Franklin girl in a putrid-green shirt dress was on the floor, against the bathtub. Her hair was up in a messy bun with culturally-insensitive chopsticks stuck through it and her knees must have been killing on the bathroom tile.

She was straddling Louise Tomlinson— they were attached at the mouth like sucker fish on the side of a tank.

Louise’s hand was buried in the girl’s hair, and the girl’s hand was invisible beneath Louise’s shirt— it was obvious what it was holding.

Harriet sucked in a deep breath and took a step back, slamming the door in front of her face and just standing there for a long moment. She stared at the wood from close-up like museum-goers sometimes look at Van Goghs, wanting to appreciate every brushstroke in detail.

She spun on her heel, shoving the stoner guy away from her when he stepped forward into her path, and dashed down the stairs.

Zaina sputtered in confused protest when Harriet pulled her, bodily, out of Liam’s lap. “What the hell?”

“We’re leaving.” Harriet darted her gaze around the living room. She felt hot everywhere, and sick, like she had a sudden fever, like she’d swallowed a scorpion.

“Why? What’s happening?” Zaina stood even as she spoke, pulling Liam up behind her.

“I’m not feeling well.”

“Did you drink too much?”

Harriet nodded, still unable to keep her eyes on one spot for too long, her stomach twisting and seizing like a dying snake.

“OK.” Zaina obediently followed Harriet toward the front door, as Liam went to get Jesse. “Hold on,” Zaina said, pulling Harriet short just by the stairs. “I left my purse—” She turned to go back and get it, and just as Harriet opened her mouth to protest, Louise appeared, as if from thin air, tripping down the stairs in her dirty sneakers, a giant wine or punch stain all down the front of her oversized sweatshirt.

Harriet stared at her, bolted to the spot, a sick stigmata keeping her feet rooted there against her will.

Louise looked up at the last second before walking right into her. “Oh,” she said, her voice quiet in the noise of the room, but close enough to be heard. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

Harriet moved, suddenly set free, as she stared hard at the ground and swallowed down the puke that threatened to come up like words she didn’t mean to say out loud.

Louise paused for a short moment before walking past her and away, and Harriet looked up the moment she was gone, staring at the wall. She _never_ did that. People moved for her. She moved for no one. And she didn’t cast her eyes to the floor. She held her head like she had a metal pole pressed to the back of her neck. Even people who were taller than her had to look up to catch her eye.

Zaina reappeared at her side, her purse swung over her shoulder. She raised a brow. “Harriet?”

“Let’s go.” She turned without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I name Harriet's bf Jesse solely bc of the song Jesse's Girl? Obviously

Harriet felt like dough flattened over and overby a rolling pin when she woke up the next day. She’d barely gotten a wink of sleep, and her head _killed_ even though she’d had no more to drink than usual. She glared at her reflection in the mirror of her closet door and got up to take a shower.

Harriet always dressed her best when she felt her worst. Today, she picked out a soft green mini-dress that fit close to her hips and brought out the color in her eyes, and slid on her dark-chocolate-brown Mary Janes, the ones that matched the shade of her long, loose curls to a t. She skipped out on the hot pink eye shadow, choosing instead a shimmery white shade that she dabbed on her cheekbones, as well. She touched the tip of her nose with the lightest hint of blush and opted for mint chapstick instead of lipstick or gloss.

She was restless in her first few classes, and distracted all through lunch. Her mind was set like a one-track train on Social Studies. She ignored the itching feeling at the back of her neck whenever she thought about _why._ Jesse bought her a cherry Coke, and she downed it so fast they had to stop at a gas station on the way back to school, because she couldn’t hold her pee for the length of the four minute drive.

Zaina started toward their usual spots when Social Studies finally arrived, but Harriet grabbed her arm and steered her, instead, toward the open seats near the back, just in front of Louise Tomlinson and her one and only friend, Niall Horan.

“Jesse and I just hook up,” Louise was saying, staring down at her phone in her lap as Harriet and Zaina sank into the empty chairs. “We’re never going to be anything serious, even if I wanted that.”

Niall cleared his throat, and Louise looked up. Harriet didn’t turn to see her expression, but she cast a sideways glance toward Zaina, who was gaping as she stared straight ahead.

Harriet felt a strange sense of calm and inexplicable satisfaction— almost _relief—_ as she pulled out her phone.

_u heard that, I assume?_

_no way shes talking about your jesse,_ Zaina texted back, almost as soon as Harriet’s message had sent.

_what other jesses do u know?_

_he wouldnt!!!_

_the audacity of her to think he’d ever stoop so low._

Harriet tossed her hair over her shoulder. Zaina kept casting nervous glances her way throughout the rest of class. When the bell rang, Harriet grabbed Zaina’s arm and pulled her into the hallway. She didn’t give Louise so much as a bare, brief glance.

“Seriously,” Zaina was already saying as they started off down the hall, “Jesse wouldn’t cheat on you. I mean, you’re _you._ ”

“And she’s _her._ ” Harriet wrinkled her nose in distaste. Louise Tomlinson was a near-friendless skater loser with no money, no poise, no smarts, and no future. She wore sweats and sneakers every day of the week, she sat in the back of every class they’d ever shared, and more often than not she smelled like weed or cigarettes. It was laughable to imagine that Harriet would ever feel threatened by her.

She seethed at the memory of her with that Franklin girl in Andy’s bathroom. The mere thought of it almost made her gag.

“She’s obviously delusional,” Harriet said. “But that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be taught a lesson about trying to play with other girls’ toys.”

Zaina raised a brow, and Harriet leered.

“Hey babe.” Jesse came up behind them, wrapping an arm around Harriet’s waist.

“Baby,” Harriet said, turning in his arms, placing both hands flat on his chest. She splayed out her fingers, dragging down just slightly. Jesse shivered visibly and raised his brows, obviously surprised. Harriet smiled wide. “I have a little favor to ask.”

*

Harriet bit into a just-washed strawberry, rolling her eyes as she held up a hand to catch the runoff juice. “Are we still on this?”

“Harri,” Zaina whined. “I’m serious.”

“You’re making this a much bigger deal than it is.”

“People are going to think he _is_ cheating on you!”

Harriet laughed. “On what planet would anyone actually believe that?”

“If you want him to make it convincing for _her_ , it’s going to be convincing for other people, Harriet.”

Harriet grinned. “I’m not worried about it.”

“I just think you’re overreacting. She seriously could have been talking about someone else! Liam says there are other Jesses at Franklin. Right, Li?”

“Huh?” He glanced back at them from the couch. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

Harriet shrugged. “Then we’re just doing this for fun,” she said. “Who cares?”

Zaina shook her head, leaning forward on her arms. “I don’t want to do this. I just want to focus on the squad, and college apps, and my grades.”

Annoyed, now, Harriet crossed her arms over her chest. “ _You’re_ not doing anything, Zaina. It’s a simple prank. You’re not even really involved.”

“You say that now.” Zaina sighed. “I always end up roped into your schemes, Harri.”

Harriet shrugged again. Zaina had been her best friend since they were in elementary school. If she really had a problem with getting involuntarily involved in Harriet’s “schemes,” she’d have left a long time ago. If anything, Harriet was less devious, now, than she used to be. There was a reason people were afraid of her. More than one girl had switched schools with the specific but never publicly named blame lying entirely on Harriet.

Jesse wasn’t too thrilled with her latest plan, either. But he always went along. He’d do anything for her. She’d known him almost as long as she’d known Zaina, and he’d been in love with her since the beginning. Ever since she’d said yes to him, she’d owned him. He was hers to point in any direction, to let loose like a pet tiger. And she did.

Louise would be only too easy to break. Harriet was almost bored already. But not quite. Not when she thought of Andy’s bathroom floor. Not when she thought about that girl’s hand, out of sight.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” Harriet said, and bit into another strawberry, letting it drip down her chin this time, reveling in knowing that it probably looked like blood.

*

Jesse apparently approached Louise in the hallway after second period, but he said she wasn’t particularly responsive. Harriet would’ve watched it in person, but they’d give the game away fast if Louise caught her.

“I don’t get it,” Alicia said. “Isn’t she gay?”

Harriet’s stomach swooped and her throat went dry. She quickly shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

“That’s the thing. Everyone thinks that, but she’s not. She just acts like she is because she thinks guys think it’s hot. You know that guy Niall she’s always hanging out with?”

Alicia nodded.

“They sleep together all the time. Even when he had a girlfriend, they were sleeping together.”

“That’s disgusting,” Alicia said, as if she hadn’t cheated on her own boyfriend relentlessly all through sophomore year. But Harriet just nodded her agreement.

“She deserves this,” she said.

Zaina rolled her eyes. “We’re seniors now, Harriet. Aren’t we a little old for this stuff?”

The bell rang before Harriet could— or had to— think of a retort. They broke off from their group, Zaina walking alongside Harriet toward Social Studies.

Mrs. Leonard wasn’t at the front of the room. Instead, a hippie-looking middle-aged white woman with long white hair and enough necklaces to drown her if she stepped into a lake was sitting on the desk, her legs crossed and her head leaning back. She seemed to be staring at the ceiling.

“Who is that?”

Zaina shook her head, obviously also at a loss.

“Hello, guys and gals. And non-binary pals, of course.” The woman beamed out over the room once everyone had taken a seat. Harriet raised a brow at Zaina.

“My name is Lauren. And I’m here to help.”

Silence fell over the room.

“Help with what?” Someone finally asked.

“I’m glad you asked!” The woman smiled serenely and hopped down from the desk. “I know you’re all seniors. You’re going through a stressful time right now— college apps, your last year as high schoolers, the future closing in on you, and all that responsibility— but that’s why I’m here.”

No one said anything. Harriet fought not to roll her eyes.

“At every school I’ve been to,” Lauren went on, “the number one complaint I’ve gotten from students has been about feeling lonely. Feeling isolated. Here, where you’re surrounded by your peers! Rarely ever in life are you surrounded by so many people of your own age, and of so many common life experiences. But you have a hard time communicating with one another. So we had this idea— anonymity. To aid conversation among neighbors.”

What was this woman even talking about? Where was their teacher? They had a test on Friday. Harriet huffed, irritated. She heard someone make an amused little noise, and when she glanced behind her, her eyes locked with Louise Tomlinson’s.

Feeling her face go hot and her stomach swirl like a two-flavored ice cream cone, Harriet turned quickly back toward the front.

“You’ll all be assigned email addresses we’ve made you, totally impossible to trail back to you. Then your address will be assigned a partner address, and for the rest of the semester— or the year, if you feel like it!— you’ll be pen pals.”

A collective groan came forth from the room at large, Harriet and Zaina very much included.

“Is this required?” Mary Beckett, class most-likely-to-be-valedictorian, shot up her hand, but spoke before she could be called on.

“Yes,” Lauren said, eliciting a second collective groan. “And we will be monitoring to make sure you’re writing the emails, although they’ll be totally private, no one in the staff will read any of them. Scout’s honor. So you can say whatever you like to each other— just no nudes!”

She laughed, but no one else did, and Harriet wondered how she planned to enforce that rule if she wasn’t going to look at the content of the emails.

Mary Beckett’s arm stuck up in the air again. This time she waited to be called on.

“What are we supposed to write in these emails?”

“Whatever you want!” Lauren looked over the sea of uncomfortable faces and laughed. “OK. Maybe, to start, you could share your pronouns, if you’re comfortable with that, and three fun facts about yourself. Facts that won’t give away who you are, of course.”

“Like what?” Mary asked.

“Like… your favorite ice cream flavor.”

Mary wrote this down, and Lauren laughed again. “That was just an example!” She smiled at the room at large. “Write whatever you want. The sky’s the limit!”

Harriet did roll her eyes, now. The moment the class ended, Zaina voiced her thoughts as they collected their things.

“What a colossal waste of our time.” She pulled the scrunchie out of her hair as they walked toward their lockers and re-did her now-loose ponytail. “We’re seniors! Shouldn’t this kind of ridiculous let’s-get-to-know-each-other crap be reserved for freshmen?”

Harriet shook her head in annoyance. “Like, some of us _have_ friends. I don’t need to be assigned one, thanks.”

Zaina snorted and stuffed her books into her locker. “Plus there’s no _way_ people aren’t gonna send nudes.”

“Oh, totally.”

“What about nudes?”

Harriet turned toward Jesse and gave an unimpressed look in response to his smirk and raised brow. “Did your class get this stupid pen pal assignment?”

“Oh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I’m not mad about it. We did something similar at my old school, in, like, seventh grade? It was kind of fun. This kid and I planned all these pranks without ever even meeting each other.”

“Well _this_ isn’t going to be fun,” Harriet said. “This is a thorn in my side. We’re seniors! Don’t we have enough going on?”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?”

Harriet huffed and shoved past him.

She drove herself home from school that day, so she could stop by the nursery on the way to her house. Hazel smiled at her the moment she stepped under the trellis and into the sweet-smelling air of the nursery grounds.

“Good to see you again, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Hazel.” She went straight for the peonies. Her mom had forbid her from bringing any more flowers home, but Harriet still went to the nursery sometimes, just to feel surrounded by them, like book-lovers go to libraries just to smell paper and ink.

“How’s your garden?”

Harriet nodded, glancing over her shoulder at Hazel as she carefully rubbed a peony petal between her finger and thumb. “Good, you know, not much to look at now that summer’s over, but they were beautiful the last few months.”

“I’m sure.” Harriet turned back to the flowers, breathing in deep. Peonies had always been her favorites. There was something so decadently feminine about them— like roses didn’t go far enough, the extra layers of petals like puffy sleeves and hoop skirts. She was reluctant to leave them when she waved goodbye to Hazel on her way out.

Gemma was in the kitchen when Harriet got home. “Oh,” Harriet said. “Hi.”

“Hey, Harri.” Gemma spoke from where she stood half-inside the fridge. She looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Nothing good at my house,” she said, shrugging. “I was gonna go grocery shopping, but…”

“Your figured raiding our fridge would be cheaper?”

“And easier.”

Harriet slid onto a stool at the kitchen island.

“How’s school?” Gemma asked.

Harriet made an annoyed noise. “We have this stupid pen pal assignment.”

“Ooooh.”

“Not ooooh. Boooo.”

Gemma snorted and closed the fridge at last, a pudding and a tupperware of leftovers in hand. “How’s Jesse?”

Harriet shrugged, looking out the door toward her garden. She didn’t feel like talking about Jesse. Gemma _loved_ Jesse. She’d been so thrilled when they finally got together. And when he made quarterback just as Harriet became captain of the cheer squad, she acted like Harriet had won some kind of Olympic gold.

Harriet actually preferred talking about her boyfriend with her _mom_ to talking about him with Gemma. Which was just a testament to how extra Gemma was about the whole thing, because, like, gross.

“I’m gonna go garden.”

Gemma groaned. “It’s fall! Isn’t gardening season, like, over?”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “That’s not how it works.” She ignored her older sister and went upstairs to change and grab her gloves.

Harriet opened her podcast app and listened to _Dior Talks_ as she got on her knees in the dirt of her garden, carefully extracting weeds and murmuring poems she’d memorized to her plants as the last of the summer sun beat down on her exposed neck.

She showered and settled in to work on homework as she talked to Zaina on FaceTime— they were practicing for college, just in case (as Harriet put it, because obviously she knew it _would_ be the case,) they ended up going to different schools.

“Liam still won’t shut up about going to Vermont over ‘Thanksgiving break,’” she used air quotes and rolled her eyes, “and it’s like, it’s not a break, Liam, it’s two days off, and we’ll be, like, in the middle of midterms, also _college apps,_ like, how is he just so cool and easy about everything, you know? And why would he think _I_ would be, like, does he even know me at _all?_ ”

“Seriously.”

“Like, why would I want to go to Vermont? So I can stress out about packing, and traveling, and finding a place to stay, and places to eat, and traveling back— just so I can, like, do homework in some kitschy lodge and have sex in a bed that will probably have _animal furs_ on it? Like, thanks, but no thanks.”

“I _told_ you you shouldn’t have let him get an Instagram,” Harriet said, shoving aside her textbook and grabbing her basket of nail polish. “This is what comes of it. All he cares about anymore is getting moments that are _grammable._ ”

Zaina made a gagging sound, as if she didn’t post to her own account at least three times a day. She’d never believed in moderation.

Even though Harriet didn’t have an account, she showed up on both Zaina’s and Liam’s pages often enough. She maintained a sense of mystery by having no page of her own, but she knew her appearances on her friends’ pages kept people interested and vaguely obsessed— like paparazzi photos.

Zaina hung up shortly after to meet up with Liam. Harriet went to put on her studying playlist, then glanced at her email app and remembered the assignment. With a sigh, she opened the app and set up the address she’d been assigned with her regular inbox. She had a single email— from jho28. Her _pen pal._ Rolling her eyes, Harriet stood from her desk and moved to the bed, laying on her back before tapping the phone with a long nail, careful not to smudge the wet paint. She pursed her lips and read.

_Hey!_

_This is weird, normally I would start off an introductory email with hi I’m ___, but obviously I can’t do that here. Not that I’m introducing myself to people on email all that much, anyway._

_So, I guess— my pronouns are she/her. My favorite flavor of ice cream is mint chip, but I like pretty much all ice cream. You know, because I’m a person._

_I guess it’s OK to say I love soccer? I’m not on the team or anything, so that probably won’t give me away, you know, since I’m not Chad Danforth, carrying my ball around everywhere. But maybe I should? Could be a cool look?_

_One more fact about me… OK, listen, don’t judge me, alright? I swear this isn’t an indictment on my soul, but— I don’t actually know all the words to Mr. Brightside. I know!!! And I love The Killers, too! But for years I didn’t even know that was their song? And I know, like, most of the words, but there are some verses where they sing really fast and it’s hard to hear what the actual lyrics are! I guess I could just look them up. I never thought of that._

_OK. I’m gonna look them up now. So I guess I only gave you two fun facts, since that third one’s about to become moot. But you’ll know I didn’t know all the words until_ today. _I guess this project is already improving me as a person. Who would’ve thought?_

_—jho28_

Harriet stared at her phone. She bit her lip, trying hard not to laugh. She hadn’t put much thought into what her pen pal would say, but she’d at least expected whatever it was to be boring and forced and a waste of time she could be spending on _real_ homework, or things that were actually fun.

But whoever this person was, she was pretty funny. And she didn’t seem terribly awkward about emailing a stranger. She seemed like someone it would be pretty easy to hold a conversation with, even if that conversation was over email and school-sanctioned. Harriet read over the email again, and she did laugh, this time, shaking her head a little as she sat up, leaning against her headboard.

She hesitated a moment before tapping reply. Her nails were still wet, though, so she threw the phone down on her pillow and stood up, crossing the room toward her bathroom and the nail-fan next to her blow dryer.

When there was no chance of smudging, Harriet pulled herself onto her bed again, pulling her legs up under herself and chewing on her lower lip as she stared at the blank screen. Finally, with a little puff of breath, she typed.

_Hello, jho28._

_Nice HSM reference. Do you know that new show, HSM the musical the series? I don’t watch it, obviously, but I love saying the name. It’s so stupid it’s almost great._

_My pronouns are she/her, too. How much we have in common already._

_Mint chip tastes like toothpaste. 100% judging. Double fudge brownie is my favorite, because I have taste. Although I really prefer gelato en whole._

_I won’t judge you for not knowing all the lyrics to Mr. Brightside, though, if only because you’ve eradicated the problem, now, if you’re true to your word. I suppose a fact about me is that I don’t know any Killers songs besides that one. At least as far as I know. I prefer pop, in general. If you’re a music snob and you’re going to judge me for that, I’ll just take the F and we can end this right now. Seriously, if you think you’re too good for Carly Rae Jepsen, we can’t talk._

_I hate sports, but I’ve been to every football game since freshman year. That’s technically two facts about me, so, you’re welcome._

_I won’t sign off with my address. Just… call me Peony._

Harriet hit send and released a breath. She felt strangely nervous. She hadn’t really tried to make friends with anyone in a long time. She _had_ friends, long-established, besides which, people tried to be friends with _her_ , not the other way around. But she kind of wanted this random email stranger to like her. Maybe because whoever she was, she didn’t know who _Harriet_ was. It was new, and off-putting, to be evaluated without the preface that was her name and identity at Meadowbrook High. This girl would judge her based on the contents of that email alone. It was… sort of exhilarating. Like she was Jasmine in _Aladdin,_ hiding her true identity, introducing herself to someone who didn’t _know_ she was a princess.

Harriet licked her mint-flavored lips and set her phone down on the bedspread.

“Harriet! Dinner!”

She gave the phone one last look and stood to go downstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Harriet woke late Saturday morning, smiling because she’d forgotten, the night before, that it would be weekend when she woke up.

Zaina and Liam picked her up, and they drove to Mallory’s.

Mallory was on the squad, and she lived alone with her rich grandma. The whole crew went to her house nearly every weekend. The old woman gave them free rein of the house and pool and even of her wine cellar, which was really more of a closet. She said she liked to hear them around her, that the sound of their voices made the air in her sprawling mansion of a house less stale.

Harriet stretched out on a pool chair, leaning her head back to enjoy what would probably be close to if not the last warm day of the year. She didn’t even bother with sunscreen— if she got burnt, it’d fade to a tan by Monday, and seeing as she’d be pale as paste for the next five to six months, she’d take what she could get.

“We should start looking for homecoming dresses soon,” Zaina said. She was in the pool, hanging off the side with her phone held aloft, away from the water.

“Next weekend?” Harriet asked.

“Yeah.” Zaina set her phone down and yawned. “What are we doing tonight?”

“Gina Garcia’s having people over,” Harriet said. “But I think it’s gonna be more of a kickback than a real party.”

“Real party, please.”

“Simone’s, then.”

Zaina nodded, satisfied, and pulled herself out of the water. “Are you getting in?”

Harriet shrugged.

“I was hoping to get some shots,” Zaina gave her puppy-dog eyes and Harriet gave in easily. Zaina was always using her as a model for her photography class. She was on it more than ever now that she was working on her portfolio for her safety schools. She seemed strangely more stressed about impressing those random no-name colleges than she had been about Stanford.

“Hair wet or dry?” Harriet asked, walking down the steps into the pool rather than diving, in case Zaina wanted the latter.

“Wet.” She pulled her own scrunchy out of her hair. “Use this, would you? And face the trees.”

Harriet posed obediently, and when Jesse arrived some minutes later, he wolf-whistled, like he always did.

“My girlfriend’s a model!” he declared to no one in particular. Harriet flipped him off without turning around.

“OK, I think we’re good,” Zaina said, finally, and Harriet let herself fall underwater, staying there for a long moment before popping back up, taking in a long breath and turning to face her friends as someone put on music and beers were handed around.

“Hey, Z.”

“Yeah?”

Harriet pulled her hair loose and leaned back, letting it splay out on the surface of the water behind her as she stared up at the few trees that reached out over the water, casting shade down on her. “Have you started that humanities project yet?”

Zaina’s head darted up, her eyes wide. “We had a project? When’s it due?”

“No, I mean— the email thing. The pen pal thing.”

“Oh,” Zaina shrugged, looking down at her phone again as she relaxed. “Yeah, I mean, I said hey, they said hey.”

When she didn’t say anything else, Harriet straightened and pushed on. “That’s it?”

Zaina looked up. “Uh, they said something about how stupid the assignment was, and I agreed. That’s it, though, yeah, I mean, it was just two emails. Obviously we’ll have to keep going.” Her face screwed up in distaste at this. “Why?”

Harriet shook her head, leaning back again. “No, nothing.”

*

Harriet was two vodka cranberries and an entire package of mini carrots she’d found in Simone’s fridge in when she gave in and checked her email.

There was all the usual junk, mostly colleges trying to get her to apply and random beauty product lines advertising to her. But in the inbox for her new address, there was one unread message, sent at 6:38 PM. So about five hours ago. Harriet wetted her bottom lip with her tongue and tapped the screen, opening the message.

_Peony,_

_I can’t believe the girl telling me she prefers gelato to ice cream is calling_ me _the snob. You’re wrong, though. I don’t mind pop. But I’m also almost positive you know more Killers songs than you realize. Come on. Somebody Told Me?_

 _Do you go to Holy Cow a lot? Because their mint chip_ does _taste like toothpaste, absolutely. But the exception is not the rule. Give mint chip a second chance!_

_I like sports a lot, but I’ve never been to a Meadowbrook football game. I guess that makes us kind of complementary, huh? Maybe I’ll go to homecoming this year, just to see what all the hype’s about. Do you just have a lot of school spirit or what? Not judging. I always dress up for spirit days, personally. But that’s probably more about my love of costumes than anything else._

_I_ have _watched High School Musical The Musical The Series. I have a lot of younger siblings. It’s pretty funny, I’ll admit. But you didn’t answer my question: carrying around a soccer ball at school. A look? Or no?_

_I like your nom de plume— if we’re going with the flower theme, I guess you can call me my favorite, the kind you can eat. Well, the seeds at least._

_—Sunflower_

Harriet felt herself grinning stupidly, but with the warmth of alcohol in her stomach, she wasn’t embarrassed about it. She went to type out a reply immediately, but then stopped, considering her state, and pocketed her phone, instead, still grinning. She hopped down from the counter she was sitting on and went looking for Zaina.

Harriet didn’t reply to the email on Sunday. It was always a safe bet to keep people waiting. She hadn’t gotten to where she was by being easily accessible and quick to respond. She was aloof. Exclusive. And for that, she was pined after, like a designer line which is only on sale for a week.

She was thinking about it when she walked into school on Monday morning— what she’d write, how she’d respond to Sunflower. She grinned at the name. She’d never grown sunflowers herself, but she’d always wanted to.

She paused and backed up, obscuring herself behind a pillar as Jesse approached Louise by her locker. She’d almost forgotten about the scheme, but evidently Jesse hadn’t. He leaned against the locker beside Louise’s and gave her his knock-out smile, running a hand through his carefully tousled hair. Harriet hated when he did that— it was obviously supposed to be sexy, but when he put his hand in hers, after, it was always greasy, making her wince and want to pull away. Louise seemed confused.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the interaction barely lasted a full minute before Louise gave Jesse a polite smile and turned to walk away. Jesse dropped his hand to his side. He glanced over just as Harriet stepped out of her hiding spot, and he met her halfway, in the middle of the hallway.

“What was that?” Harriet asked, annoyed.

“What?” Jesse’s smile dropped and his brow furrowed. “I did what you asked!”

“Well, it didn’t look very effective. What did you say to her?”

Jesse shrugged and stepped closer to her, tucking a finger through her belt loop. “You look good today,” he said.

“That’s— thank you, but we’re—”

“No,” Jesse laughed. “That’s what I said to her.”

“Oh.” Harriet frowned. “Is that it?”

Jesse shrugged. “I dunno. She was acting like I’d mistaken her for someone else, or something.” He released her belt loop as they started off down the hall. “I can try again at lunch. How are you, though? You barely talked to me all weekend.”

Harriet paused outside of her first period classroom and looked at him. “I saw you on Saturday.”

He nodded. “I know. I just miss you whenever you’re not around.” He grinned, his eyes soft as he leaned into her space. He’d always been this way for her. He belonged to her, in a way she didn’t quite understand, or know what to do with. Sometimes she felt like she had a Labrador instead of a boyfriend.

She went up on her tiptoes, which was really more for effect than out of necessity, since she was tall already, and wearing heels. She planted a kiss on his cheek that left a perfect lipstick mark. He grinned and leaned into her hand as she wiped it away.

Zaina found her in the hall after class. “I found the perfect shooting location yesterday. Are you free after school?”

Harriet nodded. “Where is it?”

“At the quarry, there’s this spot where there are all these old pipes, but they’re all overgrown with wildflowers— it’s _perfect._ I’ll pick you up after practice?”

Harriet nodded again. It was still strange to go home every day as Zaina went to cheer practice alone. Harriet had never been overly-passionate about cheerleading, even when she was captain of the team, but it’d always been her and Zaina’s _thing_. It was weird not to have that in common anymore— not to spend those hours together, sweating and laughing and yelling in frustration when they just couldn’t land a move quite right.

But it wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter. Harriet pulled her phone out of her pocket. She half-expected to have another email, though she hadn’t replied yet, herself.

They stayed on campus for lunch, partially because Liam had to talk to a teacher, partially so Jesse could have another go at Louise. Harriet ignored her friends as she typed under the table.

_Sunflower,_

_Eating gelato is not snobbish. Using the phrase ‘nom de plume?’ Maybe we should just give up this particular disagreement. We might end up finding out that we’re both snobs, and who wants that?_

_How many siblings is a lot? I just have the one. She kind of treats me like her Barbie doll. I was OK with it when I was little, but I’m over it now. And yes, I do know Somebody Told Me, you’re right. I don’t really understand that song, but I always sing along, anyway._

_If I’m being honest, carrying a soccer ball around is absolutely not a look. It’s cringe of the highest possible caliber. But it_ would _make you pretty easy for me to spot, and I’m not_ not _curious about who you actually are._

_I’m also curious about your love of costumes. Do you mean, like, fashion risks, or do you mean… cosplaying?_

_Don’t bother with homecoming. I’d skip out on the games myself if I wasn’t obligated. I’ll never understand the appeal of a bunch of guys running back and forth, throwing a ball around. Like, maybe it’s fun for them, but watching it is like— am I supposed to watch kids playing tag, next? Is that entertaining for some people? At least the cheerleaders have choreography. Watching football is like sitting outside at a barbecue watching your dad and his brothers tackle each other on the lawn. Like, I’d rather go inside and see what’s on TV, you know? Call me when the burgers are ready._

_I love sunflower seeds. I always used to eat the shells along with them. Sometimes I wonder if they’re still in my stomach, ripping the lining to shreds. That’s how parents talk about them— like if you eat the shell you’re gonna die. Remember when they used to say a watermelon would grow inside you if you ate the black seeds? Parents are so weird._

_—Peony_

Jesse slid into the seat next to her just as Harriet was hitting send. She fumbled with her phone; it clattered to the ground, forcing her to crouch under the table to retrieve it. When she came back up, Jesse shook his head at her. “I don’t think this is gonna work, H.”

“What? What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “She’s totally unresponsive. She just looks lost and uncomfortable whenever I talk to her.”

“She’s probably just nervous,” Harriet said. “She wouldn’t assume you’d be interested in _her_ , after all. You have to be more obvious about it.” She turned fully in her seat to face him and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Ask her out. Outright, so she can’t misinterpret it.”

Jesse looked stunned. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Why are you surprised?”

“Because this whole thing is crazy,” Zaina chimed in from Harriet’s other side, apparently having finally disconnected herself from Liam’s mouth. “You’re telling your boyfriend to ask out another girl.”

“It’s not _real,_ ” Harriet insisted. “It’s a prank.”

“What exactly is the prank?” Jesse asked. “I don’t think I get it.”

Harriet shrugged, facing forward again and dipping a mini carrot in ranch. “I haven’t decided yet. Depends on how big we wanna go.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You could just stand her up,” Harriet explained. “Or we could draw it out— make her fall for you, _then_ dump her.”

Jesse fidgeted, his brows drawn as Zaina, on Harriet’s other side, shook her head.

“I don’t know about this, baby,” Jesse said.

“I didn’t ask,” Harriet said, narrowing her eyes at him. He sighed.

“OK. Whatever you say.”

Zaina was huffy on their way to Humanities, but Harriet ignored her, rolling her phone over in her hand. They sunk into their seats. Harriet spaced out, staring toward the front of the room as she tapped the screen of her phone with a long nail. Niall Horan half-fell into the room in a burst of laughter, and Louise, smirking, walked behind him, obviously having made whatever joke had her friend in stitches.

Harriet tracked her path across the front of the room and between the desks. Louise would have to walk right past her to get her seat. Harriet thought seriously about sticking a foot out to trip her.

Louise met her gaze, and Harriet looked quickly away. But she felt Louise watching her, still, as she passed by. Maybe wondering why Harriet had been looking at her. Harriet gritted her teeth and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to think of absolutely anything but that bathroom floor.

“Wear that corduroy dress,” Zaina said. Harriet looked at her, confused. “Tonight. At the quarry.” She flipped her notebook open. “The green one, the overall dress. And your cherry pumps.”

“What should I do with my hair?”

Zaina studied her with pursed lips. “Leave it down.”

Harriet nodded and looked forward again. She checked her phone on a whim— there was a notification alert over her email. With a little rush of excitement, she opened it.

_Peony,_

_I don’t cosplay. I’ll open with that. Nothing against people who do, but that’s definitely not me. My costumes are more of the pranking-family-members variety. I was more of a pro at it when I was younger, though. I haven’t pulled off a really good costume shock in years. Maybe I should get back into it._

_I know what you mean about being treated like a Barbie doll. My sister is just starting to get into makeup, and she keeps trying to get me to subject myself to her experimentation. Fortunately, I have other sisters to peddle her off to. Four, including her, in answer to your question. Our very own_ Little House on the Prairie.

_What do you mean when you say you’re obligated to go to the games? Did you sign a contract? Will you be stoned if you’re found skipping out? Or do you mean in a greater, philosophic sense— like, you’re obligated to live your youth to the fullest, or whatever? I wonder sometimes if future me will be disappointed in how I lived my teen years. I feel like I’m doing all right, but people say these are the best years of our lives, or whatever, and I definitely feel like that’s a depressing thought. I’m hoping it goes up from here._

_I’m inclined to agree with your opinion about watching football, but you’d probably say the same thing about watching soccer, and I have to draw the line there. You’re right, though. I won’t carry my ball around. Did Chad even have a backpack?_

_My mom always said that thing about “if you keep making that face you’ll get stuck like that” when I was a kid. But how hilarious would it be to be stuck in a goofy face forever? Although I imagine the job market would be difficult to break into._

_From one snob to another,_

_Sunflower_

“ _Harriet._ ”

She looked up and over to Zaina, who raised her brows and tilted her chin. Harriet looked to where she was indicating— the girl in front of her impatiently holding a stack of worksheets over her shoulder. Harriet grabbed them, feeling her face go warm as she quickly took one and turned, herself, to pass them back.

Louise leaned forward and brushed Harriet’s hand as she went to take the pile, and Harriet, having forgotten she was even there, startled, letting go before Louise could get a grip on the pile. Papers went everywhere.

They both bent to the floor to collect them, and, in comically classic fashion, they knocked their heads together.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harriet stuttered, pulling away as Louise rubbed her forehead. Louise looked at her, bemused, and accepted the proffered worksheets with a shrug. Harriet sat up and faced forward as quickly as possible.

Zaina caught her eye and mouthed an incredulous, _What was_ that?, but Harriet ignored her. She looked down at her phone, where the email was still open on her screen, and she let out a little calming breath and felt herself smiling, despite everything.


	4. Chapter 4

Harriet laid on her stomach on Zaina’s bed, scrolling through the photos she’d taken the afternoon before. “These are amazing, Z.” She grinned over her shoulder. “And not just because they’re of me.”

“That definitely helps,” Zaina said, grunting in frustration as she clicked back on the tutorial she was watching. She sighed. “My mom makes this look so easy.”

“It’s methodical, once you get it down,” Harriet said, sitting up and picking back up her own crochet project; a matching tiny beanie to go with the blanket Zaina was trying to make for her new niece. “Like math.”

“You know I suck at math,” Zaina said.

“No you don’t. You’re just impatient.”

“Whatever. I—” She groaned and threw her needle down. “Every time I think I have this down!”

“Hand it here,” Harriet said. “I’ll get it started for you.”

Zaina complied, watching as Harriet crocheted with a studious intensity that Harriet had to work hard not to laugh at.

“So.”

“So?”

“Any changes with that pen pal thing for Humanities?” Harriet tried to be nonchalant about it.

“Oh, yeah!” Zaina perked up, and Harriet felt a flood of excitement and relief at Zaina’s response. She must be liking it, too. It was less embarrassing if this hippie-assigned project was actually working out for both of them, and not just her.

“We worked it out,” Zaina said, “so we just type out, like, a single word, or whatever, at periodic intervals. That way we get the credit, because we’re emailing each other regularly, but we don’t have to actually _do_ the project, you know? Isn’t that kind of genius?”

Harriet’s stomach sank and she nodded curtly. “Yeah. Brilliant.”

Zaina quirked a brow at her. “How about you?”

Harriet shrugged.

“Come on, you brought it up—”

Harriet was saved by Zaina’s little sister bursting into the room, declaring that dinner was ready at a truly unnecessary volume.

“I should go,” Harriet said, sliding off the bed and tucking her crocheting into her backpack.

“You can stay for dinner if you want.”

Harriet shook her head. “My mom’s expecting me.”

Zaina let her go, and Harriet drove home in silence. She sat in her parked car in the driveway for a long moment. Lately being home was no kind of relief, at least when her parents were home, too. Ever since everything happened last year, she felt her mom and her step-dad walking on egg shells around her, seemingly terrified that any little thing they said or did might set her off again, like she was a sleeper agent or something. She just wanted them to be normal. She wished they didn’t know anything. She wished she was still their perfect, untouchable daughter, who they never worried about, who they bragged about and trusted and left alone. Her only relief was that they’d agreed not to tell anyone about everything— not even Gemma.

She went inside eventually, and straight upstairs. She pushed her door open and nearly leaped out of her skin.

“Jesse! We _talked_ about this!”

“Sorry,” he said, jumping up, sheepish but grinning. “Your mom let me in!”

“I told you to _text_ me before you came over. One of these days I’m going to clobber you with something, seriously.”

He grinned wider and shrugged, falling back onto her bed and leaning against the headboard. He looked up at her expectantly.

Harriet sighed. “I have to pee.”

In her bathroom, Harriet pulled her hair up and splashed her face. She hated when Jesse came over unannounced. He’d never understood the sanctity of a teenage girl’s room. It was her space, her haven, and no matter how much she loved him, she didn’t want him in it. He always argued that she didn’t have any problem with Zaina being there, but she didn’t even dignify that with a response. Girls were different, that should have been obvious. Her room was like the treehouses little boys had with “no girls allowed” signs. She wanted to come home and know the place where she slept wouldn’t smell like sweat and Axe. “I don’t even wear Axe,” Jesse had said, once, when she’d voiced this thought.

“It’s the _principle,_ ” she’d said.

Harriet put on her vanilla lip gloss and left the bathroom. The moment she sank down onto the bed, Jesse leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck.

“My parents are home,” she said.

“So?” He waited for her to turn, so she was sitting fully on the bed, before he leaned in toward her mouth.

She pushed him back. “I’m wearing lip gloss.”

Jesse sighed and leaned away. “So go take it off.”

She furrowed her brows.

Jesse held his hands up in deference. “OK. Let’s do homework?”

Harriet hesitated a moment before nodding. They worked on Latin together, splitting the work in half and sharing answers like they always did. They worked well together, and Harriet was always comfortable with Jesse, even if she did prefer to be comfortable _outside_ of her bedroom. They never had awkward silences, they never fought. They’d been friends long before they ever dated, and when Zaina and Liam got together in eighth grade, they’d gotten closer than ever, a solidarity between them at having been left behind. They hadn’t started dating until the summer before junior year, but even before then, they spent so much time together people assumed they were already dating. They even had sleepovers in middle school, though their parents didn’t let that last long. Not that they had much to worry about, back then. The most scandalous thing they’d done at their sleepovers was watch R-rated movies.

Harriet walked him to his car after dinner. He pulled her in close and kissed her, lip gloss and all. Harriet closed her eyes and let her mouth move on automatic, her mind drifting, as it always did. She wondered, sometimes, if other people concentrated on kissing. She thought of it the way she thought of cheerleading— she went through the movements, she felt the physical realities of the moment, but her mind was in the ether, freed up to go anywhere. Maybe that was some of the appeal— it was kind of like yoga, or meditation. Just then, her mind went to her email, and with Jesse’s tongue brushing hers, she started penning a response to Sunflower in her head. The moment he released her, she rushed inside to get it down before she could forget it. Jesse called out a goodbye, and she held out a hand in a wave before slamming the door behind her.

*

Harriet leaned against her locker, waiting for Zaina to detach herself from Liam so they could go to AP Lit, and reread the email she’d written to Sunflower the night before. She hadn’t gotten a reply yet.

_Dear Sunflower,_

_Five girls in one house? I hope you have a lot of bathrooms._

_I’d like to see one of your costumes. Although I hate being scared, so maybe I shouldn’t. I can’t even handle the_ Scary Movies _, and those aren’t even meant to actually be scary. I watched_ Jennifer’s Body _with my best friend once and I had nightmares for weeks. This was, like, last year._

 _I meant that I’m obligated to my friends, but I guess I do feel obligated on a larger scale, too. My mom and my older sister both_ loved _high school, they never missed an event, they’re all over their yearbooks and they had to get so many extra signature pages, they probably felled a small forest each with the paper used._

_I’m having fun, too, and I wouldn’t wish for anything to be different, exactly, but sometimes I do feel like I’m just sort of going through motions that are expected of me, like my life is a teen movie that’s been scripted out. Teen movies are fun, but there’s not really a lot of wiggle room for trope subversion or just, like, chill time to myself in there, you know what I mean?_

_But I do think I’m ‘doing it right’, if that even means anything. I guess I hope I’m not peaking right now, but I definitely know I’ll look back on these years and be proud._

_If my life_ was _a movie, I think there’d be a lot of Blondie on the soundtrack. How about you?_

_Peony_

Harriet looked up at the sound of her name. Jesse approached her, looking two seconds away from hysterical laughter. She raised a brow in question.

“I just got rejected,” he said, beaming. “Like, _hard._ ”

Zaina and Liam disconnected with a smacking sound that made Harriet cringe involuntarily. “What?” they asked in sync.

Jesse nodded, looking almost proud of himself. “By Louise,” he said. “It was pretty spectacular. You even got a feature, babe.” He nudged Harriet at that, and she felt her eyes go wide.

“What do you mean?”

“She told me flat out that she was not interested, would never be interested, and that she thought I was being disrespectful to you,” he held up air quotes, “‘even if it was a joke.’”

Harriet’s face flamed. For some reason the mere idea of Louise even saying her name out loud made her feel vaguely queasy. She wished they were in the classroom, already, so she could sit down.

Zaina laughed. “Well. So much for that plan, H.”

Harriet straightened and shook her head. “This isn’t over.”

Zaina gave her a look of disbelief as their boyfriends leaned around them to talk. “Harriet. He can’t break her heart if she’s not even interested in him.”

Harriet shook her head, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind as she grinned at her best friend. “As the saying goes,” she said, leading the way into the room as the bell rang, “if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

Zaina slammed her bag down on her desk, obviously put-out. “What is that supposed to mean? _You’re_ going to date and dump her?”

Harriet felt herself flushing again and fought down the urge to hurl. “ _Obviously_ ,” she rolled her eyes. “We’ll befriend her and betray her. Different methods, same results.”

Zaina shook her head, hushing her voice as class began. “You never should have quit the squad.”

Harriet looked at her, startled and confused.

“Seriously,” Zaina whispered. “You have too much time on your hands.”

*

Harriet scrolled down Louise’s Instagram— for research— as Zaina read her flashcards out loud to her. Harriet answered them easily, barely even paying attention. Robotic memorization like that had always come easily to her; it didn’t feel like real learning, but she wasn’t complaining.

Louise’s page was mostly skateboard tricks and clips of her pulling pranks on Niall, who always seemed to get way more of a kick out of being pranked than Louise did pulling them. Harriet kept searching, trying to find something useful. She paused on a picture of Louise— not a selfie, probably taken by Niall. She was grinning a little, looking down at her feet, her hands in the pocket of her typical oversized sweatshirt, her boyish pixie cut sweeping down over her eyes. The caption read, “Heart of Glass.” Harriet thought of her last email to Sunflower. She clicked hurriedly away from the photo and kept scrolling.

Finally, she landed on a screenshot— a local band’s show announcement, for the coming Saturday evening. Harriet screenshotted it and closed Louise’s page.

“We’re going to a show Saturday,” she announced.

Zaina groaned in frustration and fell onto her back. “Is this about Louise?”

Harriet smirked.

“Can’t you just launch a smear campaign against her like always? Those are so simple.”

Harriet shook her head definitively. “Too easy. Besides, she’s nobody. She has no good name to sully.”

Zaina shook her head. “If she’s _nobody_ , why do _we_ care?”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Get out, boring. You’re gonna be late for dinner.”

“Crap.” Zaina sat up, checked the time on her phone, and rolled to a stand off of the bed. “I forgot. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She grabbed her stuff and rushed out as Harriet held up a hand in goodbye, already going to open her email. She’d been waiting until Zaina left to read her newest message from Sunflower.

_Peony,_

_The obvious answer here is The Killers, but maybe that’s cheating at this point. As a backup, I’ll say, if my life was a movie, I think the soundtrack would have at least a couple of Oasis songs. If only for those scenes where the character is wearing headphones, you know, and you realize the background music is actually what they’re listening to when someone talks to them and they have to take the headphones off? And the song keeps playing, but like, grainy and muted, to show it’s coming from their headphones? “Champagne Supernova” would be my song in that scene. Or maybe “She’s Electric.” That sounds cocky, huh? Whatever. I’m a little cocky._

_I’m not any kind of expert, but I feel like high school should be all_ about _chill time to yourself. Maybe not trope subversion— that’s what college is for, right? But time to yourself is, like, integral. I mean, the whole appeal of teen years is the lack of responsibility, right? And maybe you’re a quadruple AP student and you’re scoffing just reading that, but I mean, like, real world terms— we’re living under someone else’s roof right now, rent free (I’m assuming? Maybe you work?), eating their food, and we have to go to school every day, sure, but that just means we don’t have time to be working full-time jobs or anything. I just think if you’re not taking time for yourself now, when are you going to?_

_I guess I just don’t really know what the point of living for something to look back on really is. I want to live for right now._

_Sunflower_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who remembers the iconic lesbian-kissing-a-boy scene from But I'm a Cheerleader? that was It


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the inherent homoeroticism of trying on clothes with your female friends

“OK— too low-cut, or not low-cut enough?” Zaina raised her brows, looking from Harriet to her own boobs and back again.

“Just right, but I don’t know about the waist.” Harriet stood and approached her, tugging at the fabric on Zaina’s hips. “It’s all bunchy right where it should be totally flat. It disguises your figure.”

Zaina wrinkled her nose. “ _What_ figure?”

“Shut up,” Harriet said, rolling her eyes. She gave Zaina’s waist a squeeze before returning to her own stack of dresses. “Your body is perfect and you know it.”

“Let me see that orange one again,” Zaina said. “You looked hot in that one.”

Harriet obligingly picked the orange dress out from the pile and wriggled into it. She tilted her head at the mirror. “I guess it’s seasonally appropriate.”

“Exactly. Totally autumnal.” Zaina narrowed her eyes. “Try it without a bra.”

Harriet unclasped her bra through the fabric of the dress, tugged the straps down under the short sleeves, and pulled it out from the heart-shaped neckline. She adjusted the fit and looked at herself again before raising a brow in question at Zaina.

Zaina nodded. “Perfect. The fit is better without. And you always look good with a little bit of nipple coming through, anyway. Like Rachel in _Friends._ ”

“She always pulled it off,” Harriet agreed, surveying herself in the mirror more thoroughly, doing a little turn. “Yeah. You’re right. I think this is the one.” She frowned. “But what am I supposed to do, have Jesse wear an _orange_ tie?”

Zaina made a gagging sound. “Just have him go black and white, with an orange boutonnière.”

“Oh, a _boutonnière,_ you say.”

Zaina grinned and nodded.

“OK.” She nodded toward Zaina’s pile. “Try on the white one next.”

“It’s not too wedding dress-y?”

“No, I like it. You’ll look like a ghost! We can be seasonally themed together.”

Zaina pulled out the dress as Harriet leaned against the wall of the changing room and picked up her phone. She eyed her email and chewed on her lip. It’d been days now since Sunflower wrote her, and she hadn’t written back. She wasn’t trying to keep her waiting, this time. She just wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Harriet was used to being praised. She was beautiful, smart, rich— she was just what she ought to be, and until last year, no one had questioned her on anything, no one had suspected her of being any less than the perfection she presented.

But with a few sentences from a near-stranger, she felt unsteady, like a table with a wonky fourth leg that you have to stuff a book under to keep from toppling. Sunflower implied— _said—_ that Harriet didn’t live for herself, for the moment. It didn’t make sense. What was she doing, if not exactly that? She knew her popularity, her queendom, was temporary, and self-serving, and fading. But she soaked it up, every day, like the few hours of sunshine in the dead of winter. How was that not living for now, for herself?

When they’d paid for their dresses and grabbed tea samples from the corner booth across from Hot Topic, Zaina drove Harriet home, with a promise to be back in an hour, tops, so they could get ready together for the show that night. Harriet downed two cups of water in front of the fridge before heading upstairs, sprawling on her back on her bed and listening through her open window to her neighbors’ music, which so often blasted from their backyard on Saturdays.

Harriet showered and dressed before finally sitting on her bed with her laptop, pulling up her email and opening a blank new message. She let her fingers hover over the keys for a long moment before she started to type.

_Sunflower,_

_What does that mean, though? “Living for now.” We’re seniors. Our ‘now’ is the pinnacle of in-betweens, we’re on the verge of the rest of our lives. Do you not think about the future, do you not worry, do you not care about what memories you’ll have to look back on, to tell your grandkids about?_

_And everything you said about ‘time for yourself.’ I’m seventeen. I have the rest of my life ahead of me. I doubt I_ am _, today, the self I’ll be ten years from now. Shouldn’t I take ‘time for myself’once I’ve figured out who that actually is?_

_Peony_

She stared at her short message, trying to think of how to change it, doubting herself, wondering if she should go on, if she should delete it all and go back to the bit about movie soundtracks. She didn’t know this person, and so far, their messages had been largely joke-y and light. If she sent this just as it was, she’d be changing that. Sunflower might be put off— she might think Harriet was weird or psycho for going all serious, for talking to her like that so suddenly. They didn’t know each other, after all.

But that was also sort of why Harriet _wanted_ to say this. She _didn’t_ know her. But so far, Sunflower seemed to sort of… get it. And Harriet knew she couldn’t say any of this to anyone she knew in real life. And maybe, really, she was overthinking all this. She was just responding to what Sunflower had said, after all. It’d be fine.

With that thought, she hit send, and felt her stomach plummet to her toes. Desperate to think of anything else, she pulled up Louise’s Instagram again, checking to make sure she had the start time right for the show tonight. She paused in scrolling down to look, again, at that picture of Louise, smiling, her gaze downcast, her long lashes low over her cheeks. Almost like her eyes were closed. Like they had been, in that bathroom. Harriet’s breath caught, and she closed the page. She looked down at herself, and stood to change again.

*

The show turned out to be a Stone Roses cover band, and apparently they were popular, because the little bar, one of the few in town that was lenient about carding, was packed. Harriet held Zaina’s hand as Jesse held onto her shoulder, and they trailed through the crowd toward the bar, where Liam was waving over-enthusiastically for them to join him.

They slotted in around him, Zaina planting a kiss on his lips the moment she shoved her way into his bubble. Harriet let Jesse order for them as she turned, surveying the crowd from this new vantage point, searching the shorter heads in the group for a light-brown mop of hair and a hoodie. Instead, she spotted Niall first, which she really should have tried for in the first place. He’d bleached his hair recently, the way you do before you dye it another color, but he’d left it that way, and the color stuck out like a sore thumb. She let her gaze skirt around him, and sure enough, there was Louise. Only she wasn’t wearing a sweatshirt tonight— she wasn’t wearing a shirt at all. Instead, she wore a sports bra with a wide band, and a flannel tied around her waist. Harriet stared at her. How was she even— didn’t this place have some kind of policy, like beach towns do— no shoes, no shirt, no service, or whatever? She was walking around in a _bra._ It felt like it should be illegal. Harriet turned and grabbed the drink from out of Jesse’s hand before he could hold it out to her. She downed half of it in one go.

“Whoa there,” Jesse said. “Should we maybe pace ourselves?”

She _hated_ when he did that— used the royal ‘we’ on her, like they were a single thing, together, unified so fundamentally that they didn’t need separate pronouns.

She ignored him in lieu of taking a second, smaller drink, and turning toward Zaina. “She’s over there. Let’s go.”

“Hold on.” Zaina grabbed her arm before she could move. “What exactly is our plan here?”

Harriet shook her head. “This _is_ the plan.”

“OK, well, maybe we should workshop it a little. What are you planning on saying to her?”

Harriet hadn’t had hard alcohol in a while, and already, she felt it, and she focused in on Zaina with some effort. “I’ll say ‘hi.’”

Zaina snorted. “Stellar stuff. But why would _you,_ Harriet Styles, be deigning to talk to her, Louise Tomlinson, out of the blue, at this random show we have no real reason to even be at?”

“A lot of people are here,” Harriet pouted.

“Yeah, not _our_ people.” Harriet saw Jesse roll his eyes at this out of the corner of her eye, but she focused on Zaina.

“OK. So what should I say, then?”

“Nothing. You should leave her alone.”

Harriet leveled her with an unamused glare and Zaina let out a visible sigh— notably visible because it wasn’t audible in the noise of the bar.

“Fine.” She laid out a bare, simple plan, and instructed Harriet to wait until the band had played at least two songs. Obediently, Harriet hung by her friends until the third song, “I Wanna Be Adored,” started up. Then she pushed off the bar and away from Jesse’s prying hands, and moved carefully through the crowd.

Niall glanced over his shoulder just as she was approaching and did a double take, nudging Louise with his shoulder as Harriet came to a stop just behind them. Louise looked back and their gazes locked.

“Hey.”

Louise raised a brow and turned more fully. She tilted her head. “Hi?”

“I heard you write papers for people,” Harriet said, raising her voice to be heard over the music. “Twenty bucks apiece? Is that right?”

Louise gave her an incredulous look. “Aren’t you in, like, all APs?”

Harriet’s stomach twisted— how did she know that? But she was Harriet Styles. Everyone knew everything about her.

“It’s not for me,” she yelled. “It’s for my boyfriend.”

Louise’s expression cleared and she let out a little laugh. “Is this why he’s been…” She raised a brow in question.

“Yeah. He was hoping for a freebie.” Harriet gave her a smile. “He doesn’t have a lot of pocket change at the moment. So I’m his backer. Is twenty right? I can pay more.”

Louise shook her head. “Sorry. You were misinformed. I can barely get my own essays done, I’m definitely not writing anyone else’s. And you’d be throwing your money away, asking me. I BS everything.”

Harriet grinned. “Who doesn’t?”

Louise quirked a brow. Harriet’s Zaina-provided script had run out, and she floundered for a reason to keep the conversation going. She needed to make this appear natural. She ran a hand through her hair, and went warm everywhere as Louise seemed to track the movement. “Do you know anyone that can help, then?” Harriet asked, finally.

Louise shrugged. “I can ask around. But you’re…” she trailed off, shaking her head, and Harriet quirked a brow.

“What?”

“You’re… you. You know everybody. You could ask anyone.”

Harriet gave her a friendly grin. “I don’t know _everybody._ ” She glanced around the room. “The only people I know _here_ are the ones I came with.”

“Yeah,” Louise said, curiosity peaking in her expression as she leaned in a little. “This doesn’t really seem like your crowd. What brought you out here tonight?”

Harriet couldn’t very well say _you,_ so she answered with an alternate truth— but it was true, anyway. “I love The Stone Roses.”

Louise raised her brows. “Seriously?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I just… no reason, I guess. I kind of thought you were… the, like, boy band type.” Louise cringed at her own words, and Harriet laughed.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

Louise shrugged. “Did I say it was wrong?”

“So it’s not wrong, _you’re_ just not that _type._ Right?”

Louise’s eyes were steady on hers. “They’re not _my_ type.”

Harriet’s heart kicked up a fit like an angry child, and she moved from one foot to another, at a loss. “You… what are you doing after this?”

Louise looked stunned by the question, and Harriet felt her face flame at the context and implication of her question. She spoke rapidly, pointing over her shoulder towards her friends, still by the bar. “We’re going to a party. You should come, if you’re not doing anything.” She glanced over Louise’s shoulder. “Bring your friend, too, if you want.”

Louise shook her head. “No offense, but— why? Why are you even still talking to me?”

Harriet pursed her lips and ran her hand through her hair again. She was certain Louise watched it, this time, and she felt a blooming heat in her chest. “I had to drag them here tonight,” she said, nodding back toward her friends again. “None of them even know The Stone Roses.”

Louise stared at her. Slowly, she nodded. “OK. Where are we going?”


	6. Chapter 6

Jesse gave Harriet an incredulous look when she paused, letting Louise go first through the doorway. Alicia, who’d opened the door for them, looked more baffled than just incredulous, outright mouthing _wtf?_ at Harriet behind Louise’s back. Harriet pressed onward without comment, smiling serenely at Louise when she looked over her shoulder at her.

Niall, at the back end of their group, let out a loud whoop when the door closed behind him, and charged forward and into the crowd dancing in the living room without a moment’s hesitation. Louise grinned and shook her head at him. Harriet licked her lips and looked at Jesse.

“Go get us drinks?”

He nodded, glancing at Louise briefly before starting toward the kitchen. Zaina, with Liam wrapped around her like an oversized fur coat, came up on Harriet’s other side. “Can we park?” she pouted her lower lip, earning a quick kiss on the cheek from her boyfriend. “My feet hurt.”

Harriet nodded and led the way. She could feel Louise following behind her, and she wondered what she must be thinking. This had to be surreal for her— falling into step, _invited_ into step, with the head cheerleaders, all the most popular girls in school. Of course, no one paid them— her— any mind. Parties were like that— no one knew what was going on with anyone but themselves, and maybe whoever seemed closest to breaking into a physical brawl.

Harriet raised a brow at the girls on the couch, and they sprung up and away. She saw Louise make a face at this in her peripheral vision, but she couldn’t read it, so she just sat primly in the middle of the couch, and Zaina and Liam collapsed beside her, already on each other. Harriet looked up at Louise expectantly, raising a brow.

“Should I— your boyfriend—”

“Would you _sit?_ ” Harriet tugged her down. “Yer makin’ me nervous,” she said in an unidentifiable accent— she couldn’t actually remember what that was from— and Louise laughed.

“Sorry, kid,” she said, in an identically nonsense accent, and Harriet felt herself smiling one of those painful-to-the-cheeks kind of smiles, as Louise smiled back at her, her eyes doing that dart-back-and-forth thing like she couldn’t decide where in Harriet’s eyes to focus.

Jesse kneeled in front of them. “Ladies,” he said, holding up two red solo cups like offerings. Harriet accepted them and inclined her head.

“My faithful servant,” she said, and Jesse grinned and flopped onto the couch beside Louise.

Louise, looking unsure what to make of the exchange, stared at Jesse. Harriet nudged her and held out one of the cups. Louise accepted it, and their fingers brushed— Louise’s hands were tiny; Harriet felt gargantuan next to her. But she was hardly dainty— she brought the hand that wasn’t holding the cup up to her hair, and Harriet spotted a tattoo on her fingers that she’d never noticed before.

But of course she hadn’t. It wasn’t like Harriet spent much time staring at Louise Tomlinson’s hands, or any other part of her.

“28?” she asked.

Louise followed Harriet’s gaze to her fingers and blushed. “Oh. Um… yeah.”

“Does it mean something?”

“It’s… a movie reference.”

Harriet inclined her head and opened her mouth, ready to ask what movie, but Jesse leaned forward just in time to cut her off. Louise looked relieved.

“Babe,” Jesse said. “Joey says they’re playing spin the bottle upstairs.” He grinned, cheesy and pleased, and she rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Are you asking my permission?”

“No, let’s both play!” He looked at Louise. “Uh… you can come too, Lou…ise.” He said her name like he didn’t know how it was pronounced. She looked supremely uncomfortable under his gaze.

Harriet mulled it over for a second. “OK,” she said, surprising even herself, but obviously more so Louise, who looked at her like she’d just agreed to murder. Harriet ignored her, turning to Zaina and Liam.

“Guys? Spin the bottle?”

“No thanks,” Liam said, smiling dopily as Zaina sucked up the side of his neck. Harriet gagged at him and turned back to Louise, who was laughing, and raised a brow at Harriet, who hadn’t realized that she’d seen that. Harriet felt her face heat, and she stood quickly, stepping over Louise’s legs and into Jesse’s arms.

“You coming?”

Louise pressed her lips in a thin line. “I think I’m good.”

“Come on,” Harriet said. She disentangled herself enough from Jesse’s grip to hold a hand out to Louise. “Play,” she demanded. Louise stared up at her for a long moment before taking her hand, letting herself be pulled.

Upstairs, the music was quieter, and the whole party atmosphere was more chill. They went into Alicia’s guest room, and the smell of weed pervaded the space as someone played guitar and Harriet spotted a lava lamp on the bedside table.

Alicia was already sitting down in the circle of people on the floor, and when she spotted Harriet she waved her over, looking less surprised but still confused when she saw Louise following behind her.

“I’m so excited,” Alicia said when they’d sunk down beside her, Jesse, seemingly missing the point of the game, sliding in behind Harriet and wrapping his hands around her waist. “I haven’t played this since, like, eighth grade.”

“Because that’s where it belongs,” Harriet said with a laugh, but she gamely returned Alicia’s enthused smile. “Who do you have your eye on, then?”

Alicia leaned close and pointed her chin out to indicate across the circle. Harriet and Louise looked as one, and Harriet felt her gaze move toward Louise, for a moment, instead of toward whoever had Alicia had indicated. Then Louise glanced back at her, and she quickly diverted her eyes, searching for Alicia’s target.

He was immediately easy to pick out. Everyone else in his vicinity was dull-looking, super taken, or girls. Harriet ignored the tug in her stomach at that thought and surveyed the guy. He had long-ish dyed-blond hair and tons of piercings, but all in his ears, which was respectable, in Harriet’s book. She nodded at Alicia. “Hot.”

Harriet looked to Louise, waiting, and Louise’s face went blank before she shrewdly nodded, her eyebrows drawn in feigned concentration. “I concur.”

Harriet rolled her eyes, grinning, and leaned back into Jesse. “What about you, babe?” She gave him a playful nudge.

“I’m just here for the occasion of it all,” he said. “I’ve never played this before! I think I’m legally obliged to participate at least once.”

“Just don’t go falling in love with anyone,” Harriet said.

“No promises,” he said. She looked at him with a raised brow, and he smirked. “Have you _seen_ Luke tonight?”

Harriet elbowed him in the gut. “Idiot.”

Louise, beside her, had crossed her arms over her chest, and any excitement— or amusement— had gone from her eyes. Harriet bumped her knee with her own, and Louise looked up at her, forcing a smile.

“OK!” Janie Perez called out. “Bottle procured! Who spins first?”

“You!” the group chorused, and Janie blanched.

“I should’ve seen that coming,” she grumbled, but went along anyway, and shortly smacked a short, exaggeratedly-loud kiss on Cameron Newton’s mouth. The game quickly picked up, and the circle grew as passers-by saw what was going on and laughingly, giddily collapsed down to join. Louise worried the tassels of the pillow she was sitting on between her fingertips. Harriet watched, semi-mesmerized by her hands, small and rough, with callused fingertips like maybe she played the guitar or, like Harriet, frequently worked in the yard, but, unlike Harriet, didn’t wear gloves. Her nails were short and unpainted; there was smudged ink on the back of her left hand, seemingly the remains of a written reminder of some kind, in lieu of using a planner, like Harriet did.

“Harriet.”

She looked up and Alicia raised a brow at her. “It’s your turn.”

She’d missed Alicia’s go. She was so stunned by this revelation that it took her a solid half a minute before she actually remembered to move, but she did, finally, leaning forward and giving the bottle a mighty spin. She sank back and watched it go, and as she noticed Louise staring at the bottle like she could set it on fire with her eyes, it suddenly occurred to her that it might land on her. On Louise. And Harriet nearly leapt up right there to run away.

But then it did land, and not on Louise. It _did_ land on a girl— but it was just Becky Barnes, the younger sister of Justina Barnes, who’d tried out for the cheer squad three years in a row before giving up. Harriet sighed and crawled forward on her knees. Becky stared at her with wide eyes and didn’t move an inch, seemingly frozen in shock.

“I’m not going to hunch,” Harriet said in a huff, raising a brow. Becky scrambled to get up, onto her knees, and when she had, Harriet leaned forward, just slightly, like she was trying to get a better look at something, and closed her eyes. She didn’t move any further. It wasn’t for _her_ to kiss _anyone,_ even Becky Barnes, even in a game of spin the bottle. Harriet Styles was, and always would be, _kissed._ So she waited, and Becky promptly followed through, pecking Harriet’s mouth, dragging down just slightly in a nervous twitch, and Harriet moved back just in time to prevent them knocking noses. She turned without a word and crawled back to her seat.

Louise stared at her with an unreadable, intent expression, and Harriet felt her face flame, like an afterthought. Jesse welcomed her back into his arms. She half-expected a comment from him— a _“that was hot, babe”_ or something of that nature. But he just squeezed her before leaning around to spin the bottle himself. She’d almost forgotten he was even playing.

Jesse’s spin landed on a sophomore Harriet couldn’t remember the name of, one of her worshippers, and the girl shook like a nervous cat as he approached her. He laughed after the brief touch of their mouths, reaching out a hand to steady her, and when he came back to Harriet, he smiled at her so beatifically she couldn’t help but laugh.

Then it was Louise’s turn. The same thought, inverted, returned to Harriet, as had come to her on her own turn— _it could land on me._ She sat straight-backed and stiff up against Jesse’s chest, and Louise spun the bottle. It seemed to spin and spin and spin forever, like one of those slow-motion shots of a bullet flying through the air, before it lodges itself squarely in someone’s chest. Then it landed on dyed-blond, multiple-piercings— Alicia’s crush. Alicia made an annoyed sound on Harriet’s other side, but Louise hardly looked more enthusiastic about this result than Alicia was. She flattened her mouth into a line again and paused for a long moment, like she might declare she was out and leave the circle before carrying out her turn. But then she scooted across the circle and got up onto her haunches, leaning forward.

Multiple piercings shot a hand out and laced it through Louise’s hair as their lips met. She shoved him heftily away, and he laughed, everyone laughed, and Louise crawled back to Harriet’s side, looking sort of ill.

Harriet stared at the side of Louise’s head as the game went on around them. She didn’t say anything, but Louise must have felt her gaze. She looked up, met Harriet’s eyes, and her mouth just sort of fell open— in surprise? Wonder? And Harriet looked at it, and turned in Jesse’s lap.

The crowd whooped as Harriet dove into the kind of kiss that usually led to sex. Jesse responded in turn, making a hungry little noise into her mouth that curdled her blood like milk in wine.

She pulled away with a string of spit and didn’t look at Louise. “I’m bored,” she said, her voice low and her lids the same. “Let’s do something else.” She stood, and Jesse barreled after her, nearly tripping and falling into the circle. She pulled him out of the room without a second glance.

But in the hallway, she pulled away. “I have to pee.” She left him there as she’d left Louise, and went into the bathroom.

Before she could reach the toilet, though, her phone rang. Confused, she pulled it out. Who was _calling_ her?

“Hey,” Zaina said when she answered. “Where ever you are, come downstairs. We’re doing a drinking game to _Clueless._ ”

Harriet swallowed. She swallowed again— all of it, everything that was screeching and clawing to come up. “Coming,” she said, and she went.


	7. Chapter 7

_Peony,_

_But how will you figure out who you are if you don’t take the time to do it?_

_I wouldn’t say I don’t think about the future. Of course I do. But there’s the time I take working on college essays and there’s the time I take to hang out with my sisters, or to play soccer with my best friend, or to stay up late watching Netflix because I have a free first period. I think sometimes you can’t make a real memory if you set out to do just that. None of my best memories were manufactured. They happened when I wasn’t thinking at all— when I was just living._

_What do I know, though? This weekend I did something just for the novelty of it, and it was nothing if not memorable. I guess maybe that works for some people. Maybe it works for you. If it makes you happy, whatever, right?_

_But does it?_

_Sunflower_

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

Harriet looked up from her phone, blinking at Zaina like her eyes were adjusting to light. “What?”

“I cannot stand you.” Zaina sighed. “Whatever. Are you coming over tonight? My sister wants to show you some Thai drama she’s been watching. It’s gay, apparently. She’s obsessed.”

Harriet stared at her. “What?”

Zaina raised a brow. “What, what?”

“Why does she want to show me a… gay show?”

“Because she’s obsessed with it, and you?” Zaina rolled her eyes. “She literally couldn’t care less what I think about anything. You’re her idol and I’m chopped liver.”

Harriet huffed out a laugh at that, licking her lips and shaking her head. “You know that’s not true. She loves you.”

“Whatever. Are you coming over or not?”

Harriet nodded. “Sure, I guess. After practice?”

“Yeah. I’ll have Li pick you up.” She grinned. “I’m wrangling him to watch, too. He’s gonna be so uncomfortable.”

Harriet’s stomach twisted like a towel being wrung out. She just nodded again, tucking her phone away.

Zaina looked over Harriet’s shoulder and stepped closer. “Your project’s staring at you.”

Harriet glanced in the direction Zaina was looking. Louise, standing beside Niall as he struggled to stuff a bag into his locker, dropped her gaze the moment Harriet met it. She turned away, completely, so Harriet could only stare at her back. Harriet looked back to Zaina.

“Invite her tonight, if you want,” Zaina said.

_“No.”_

Zaina’s brows shot up. “What? Why?” She grabbed Harriet’s arms. “Have you finally come to your senses?”

“Shut up. No. I just…”

“ _‘No,’_ you say. So you admit you’re _out_ of your senses.”

Harriet wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think that phrase inverts like that.”

“Whatever, grammar police. So why don’t you want to invite her? I thought you wanted to be all buddy-buddy. You know, before you destroy her for no discernible reason.”

Harriet crossed her arms over her chest. “I… don’t want your sister involved.”

Zaina snorted. “What is this, a bank robbery? She’s not gonna be _implicated_ , weirdo.”

Harriet’s brow creased. “Just… no.”

Zaina shrugged as the bell rang.

In Humanities, Harriet bit the bullet, turning in her seat to smile at Louise. “Hey,” she said.

Louise looked surprised and wary. “Hi.”

“Saturday was fun.”

Louise shrugged. “Sure. You kind of disappeared.”

Harriet ignored that. “We should hang out again some time,” she said. “What are you doing tomorrow?” She looked over at Zaina, who was diligently refusing to acknowledge this interaction. “We were gonna go to this record store on Main. Zaina only listens to vinyl.”

“I _prefer_ vinyl,” Zaina said, apparently provoked enough to give up the act.

Harriet grinned at Louise like Zaina’s snobbery was a private joke she was in on. Louise’s expression was unreadable as she stared back, her gaze as heavy and unflinching as ever. Harriet felt like a leaf under a magnifying glass in the sun when Louise looked at her like that.

“Sure,” Louise said. “Always Famous?”

Harriet’s brow wrinkled. “What?”

Louise grinned. “The store.”

“Oh,” Harriet rolled her eyes. “Of course you know it.”

Louise laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harriet raised her brows and looked down at Louise’s The Cardigans shirt.

Louise smirked. “Whatever.” She nodded. “I’m down. Tomorrow?”

Harriet nodded back.

Louise angled her head toward her friend, who’d been scrolling on his phone this whole time. “Can Ni come?”

Harriet and Niall made eye contact. Niall seemed to read something in her expression, and he cleared his throat.

“Um, I actually can’t tomorrow.”

“What?” Louise looked at him. “Why? What are you doing?”

He looked at her, and at Harriet again. “I have to… clean my room.”

Louise opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Leonard called the class to attention. Harriet turned around in her seat again and pulled her phone out under her desk.

She didn’t know how to respond to Sunflower’s last message, but she didn’t want to leave her waiting again. It felt sort of momentous that Sunflower had taken her own sudden shift in tone and gone with it, that she’d let Harriet express herself and had honestly replied. As incited as she felt by Sunflower’s words— _does it?_ rang in her head like a cathedral bell chiming the hour _—_ she found she liked to imagine her with her siblings, or playing soccer, or watching Netflix in the dark. Harriet didn’t even know what she looked like, but those images gave her a little tug in her chest. She thought about going to Zaina’s tonight. Maybe _that_ was what Sunflower was talking about. Maybe those were the memories she’d cherish the most… over, for instance, winning homecoming queen yet again.

She didn’t know how to compress all of these thoughts into an email. So, instead, she wrote back a single line, like she was sending a text.

_What did you do this weekend?_

She looked up at the front of the room, and tried to focus on the lecture. Zaina, beside her, looked close to nodding off.

After a few minutes, she glanced down at her phone. There was a notification over her email app. Surprised, she tapped it immediately, only pausing to glance surreptitiously toward the front of the room, and check whether Mrs. Leonard was looking at her. She wasn’t, so Harriet looked down again.

_I’d say I was a poster child for peer pressure._

Harriet typed quickly in response.

_Drugs??_

The answer was fast— whoever Sunflower was, she was obviously on her phone in class, too.

_I mean, weed. But that’s not what I meant. I do that anyway_

_So what did you mean?_

_I played a game._

Harriet thought of spin the bottle, and her stomach flipped. Before she could respond, Sunflower had emailed her again.

_I lost_

Harriet licked her lips.

_Monopoly, or what?_

_lol. yeah. strip monopoly_

_actually?_

_not actually._

Harriet felt herself grinning. Zaina, at her side, cleared her throat. Harriet looked over at her and toward the front of the room, where Mrs. Leonard was looking in her direction with narrowed eyes even as she continued to lecture. Harriet tucked her phone away.

After school, Harriet stopped by the nursery again. She put Letters To Cleo on and held her headphones up to the peonies, kneeling in front of them until the clouds overhead lived up to their potential, raining down on her and ruining her hair before she could get to her car.

Anne was home when she got in, and she smiled at Harriet as she shed her outer layers by the door.

“Hi, honey. How was school?”

“Fine.” She started toward the stairs.

“Do you want me to make you a snack?” Anne called.

Harriet wanted to say she was fine, but she knew where her mom’s head would go, where it always went. So she looked over her shoulder and shrugged. Anne smiled and whirled to the fridge. Harriet sighed and went to her room.

She ignored her homework in favor of checking what was new on Netflix, despite the fact that she’d be spending most of the evening watching TV with Zaina and her sister. She scrolled through the new releases and down, idly looking at the genre names, and wondering what Sunflower watched. Sitcoms? Documentaries? Comedy specials? All of the above?

She paused over LGBTQ. After a long moment’s hesitation, she hit play on “Queer Eye.” 

Anne came in a few minutes later, and Harriet slammed her laptop closed. Anne clapped a hand over her eyes and held the plate out in front of her as if as a white flag. “I didn’t see anything, I’m not looking!”

“I’m not watching _porn,_ mom,” Harriet huffed. “I’d just appreciate it if you _knocked_ please?”

“Sorry, honey.” Anne uncovered her eyes and set the plate down on Harriet’s bedside table. She nodded. “I’ll remember next time.” She nodded again. “You trust me, right?”

Harriet sighed. “Yes, mom.”

“Good. Mutual trust is important,” Anne recited. Harriet fought not to roll her eyes. She picked up the plate to appease her mom and turned her laptop away from her before opening it again.

Anne nodded again and left. Harriet closed Netflix and lay on her back, balancing the plate on her stomach. She took a bite of peanut butter-smeared celery and stared at her ceiling. Then she sat up, set the plate aside, and took out her homework.

*

Safaa had apparently watched the series they were watching in its entirety already, because she kept giddily giving things away as she over-explained obvious plot points, bouncing where she sat beside Harriet, who just laughed and nodded along. Zaina, on Harriet’s other side, kept yelling at her sister about spoilers and throwing pillows at her.

Liam, contrary to Zaina’s imagination, loved the show. He laughed way too hard at the corny jokes and made audible swooning sounds whenever the main characters came close to kissing. Harriet focused all her attention on her friends’ reactions, trying her best to avoid actually watching much of what was happening on the screen. She felt a vague, underlying and constant nausea throughout the hours of binging, like she was seasick and wouldn’t feel better until they reached dry land.

Liam drove her home late, and Harriet padded through the house in her socks; all the lights were already off, her parents, at least, still did her the courtesy of not waiting up. She’d worried that, too, might change— but they’d talked it out. _Trust,_ Anne had said. _We trust you._

Harriet closed her bedroom door behind her, stripped off her clothes, threw on an oversized shirt, and slipped into bed with her laptop. She checked her email, like she’d been wanting to do all night.

_Peony,_

_You never replied— I hope you didn’t get your phone taken away in class or anything. That’d be kind of funny, though— getting punished for doing homework in class. Because technically, this is homework. It doesn’t really feel like it, though. Not for me, at least._

_We were talking about what we did over the weekend. I don’t know… maybe we should try_ Parent Trap _ping. You know, switch roles for a while. I’ll go to some school-sanctioned events and try to socialize with people who get a lot of pictures in the yearbook, and you can get high and watch four straight seasons of_ Always Sunny _in one sitting. Wow, I make myself sound good. I should put this stuff in my college essay, huh?_

_Maybe we should start small. I’ll listen to nothing but pop music for a week. You can just… look up 90s rock playlists on Spotify, or whatever. If we don’t hate each other, and music in general, by the end of the week, we can progress._

_Sunflower_

Harriet grinned to herself and closed her laptop, burrowing down in her blanket. She grabbed her phone and her headphones, and she opened Spotify.

The first song that came on was “Waterfall.” The Stone Roses. Harriet thought of Louise— her sports bra, her tousled hair in the lights coming off the stage. She’d put her flannel on at the party, but she hadn’t buttoned it up all the way.

Harriet thought of the first concert she’d ever gone to. She’d been twelve, and her parents had allowed Gemma permission to go on the condition that she took Harriet with her. She couldn’t even remember the name of the band anymore— they were some local band, Gemma had a crush on the drummer. They played 80s covers; Harriet remembered when they started up with “I Think We’re Alone Now,” and everyone screamed and danced like they’d even been alive when that song came out. But Harriet had danced, too. She and Gemma had danced together— Gemma seemed to stop being annoyed with her, and her general unwanted presence, basically as soon as the music began. Then she was just excited. They were both excited. Thinking about it, Harriet realized it was one of her favorite memories with Gemma. Things had been different between them back then. Gemma hadn’t really wanted anything to do with her. So it’d been amazing when she was nice, all of a sudden. As time went on, of course, Harriet would have killed for Gemma to just leave her alone. She went from zero to one hundred so fast Harriet had long-lasting whiplash. Harriet thought she could pinpoint the moment things changed. It was in ninth grade. It was the first time Harriet approached her sister to talk about a boy.

Harriet turned off her phone and rolled over, squeezing her eyes closed, willing sleep to come. But she could still see Gemma’s expression, behind her lids. She could remember the tone of her voice as she sat up on her bed, shoving away the homework she’d been working on. She’d been so excited; she'd smiled like Harriet had just announced that they’d come into a surprise family fortune, or something.

 _“Finally,”_ she’d said. “Geez, Harriet. Took you long enough.” She’d laughed. “I was starting to think you might be a lesbo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the series they watched is 2gether, btw


	8. Chapter 8

Always Famous was right next to Jacques’ Java and right in front of the bus stop, so there were always people from Meadowbrook and Franklin, keeping the place safely in the black. Harriet sipped on her iced latte and leaned against the M’s of new releases in hip hop, her eyes trained on the door.

“She’s not gonna stand you up,” Zaina said, not looking up from the stack she was flicking through.

Harriet straightened. “What are you talking about?”

Zaina pulled a record out and flipped it over, eyeing the track list. “Louise. She said she’d come. She’ll come.”

Harriet went to cross her arms over her chest; her drink got in the way, so she took a sip from it, instead. “Like I care.”

“Obviously you do,” Zaina said, looking up at her at last. “I just don’t get _why._ ”

Harriet stared back at her, feeling like a deer in headlights. Zaina let her go, at last, and put the record she’d pulled out back in the pile. “You’re the one who quit the squad. If you’re _so_ bored—”

“I’m not bored,” Harriet said.

Zaina looked at her again. She pursed her lips. “Is it Jessie?”

“What?”

“I mean, like— is he not doing it for you?”

Harriet felt her eyes go wide. “ _What?_ ”

Zaina shrugged. “I got _so_ antsy when Liam went to his family’s cabin over the summer. I was, like, playing _board games_ with my _sisters,_ and, like, _cooking_ , like, of my own free will.” She nudged Harriet with her hip. “If you want Jessie to switch things up in the boudoir, you should just tell him. Guys are better about that stuff nowadays, you know. Liam loves when I tell him what I want.”

Harriet rolled her eyes and pushed away from the table. “Things are perfectly fine in the _boudoir_ , thanks. Not everyone thinks about sex 24/7, Zaina.”

“Boring for them.” She flicked through another stack. “So if it’s not sex, what is it?”

The bell over the door chimed. Harriet watched as Louise came through, out of the sunshine outside, and noticed Harriet and Zaina. She waved a hand with a friendly smile and started toward them.

“It’s the principle,” Harriet murmured to Zaina. Zaina snorted and turned, walking away before Louise could reach them.

Louise stopped short, watching Zaina go. She chuckled and took off her beanie, mussing up her hair. “She does not like me.”

Harriet glanced back at Zaina. “She doesn’t really like anyone,” Harriet said. She looked back at Louise. “At first. You just have to wait her out. She didn’t like matcha at first, either.” Harriet grinned.

Louise laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m with her on that one.”

Harriet gaped exaggeratedly. “You don’t like _matcha?_ ”

“I don’t really like any drink that’s green,” Louise said. “Unless it’s, like, neon.”

“So, nothing natural, just chemicals.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Louise looked behind Harriet, at the table. “So, you’re into hip hop?”

“Oh.” Harriet shook her head. “No, I was just following Zaina.”

Louise nodded. She stuck her hands in her pockets, and met Harriet’s eyes. Harriet didn’t think she’d ever met anyone who made so much eye contact.

“So what do you like?”

Harriet shrugged. She thought of the deal she’d made with Sunflower.

“Well,” Louise went on, “I know you like The Stone Roses.”

Harriet stared at her. “What— you— how did you—”

Louise gave her a bemused smile. “Because of the show? That we were both at?”

“Oh. Right.” Harriet cleared her throat. “Yeah, um, my sister was really into that show _My Mad Fat Diary_ for a while? When she was still living at home. She played the soundtracks all the time, so, I got kind of into some of the bands.”

Louise nodded. “I haven’t seen that.”

Harriet shrugged. “What about you?”

Louise looked around. “I don’t actually have a record player, so, I’m not here to buy.”

“What?” Harriet shook her head. “But you knew this place by name.”

“Niall loves records,” Louise said. She grinned sheepishly. “Honestly, I prefer listening to music on my laptop with my earbuds.”

“Wow.” Harriet shook her head. “You’re such a… fake.”

Louise cracked up. “ _I’m_ fake?”

Harriet narrowed her eyes. “I don’t appreciate the emphasis.”

“Sorry. I’m _fake?_ ” She grinned, and Harriet knew all of the sudden what all those corny books she’d read in middle school were talking about when they described someone’s eyes as ‘sparkling.’ She bit down on her smile and huffed, whirling away with a hair toss and starting off down the aisle, forcing Louise to follow.

*

_Sunflower,_

_I hate to break your brain, but I looked up those Spotify playlists, and I know basically every song on all the top results. If you think this week will break me, prepare to be disappointed._

_Something tells me if we_ really Parent Trap _ped_ , _all we’d really discover is that we’re not as different as we like to think. Isn’t that kind of the point of all those movies? That deep down we’re all just human, or whatever? Like_ Step Up _, and all those. It’s so weird that there are so many movies just trying to teach people, like, basic empathy. But also just flatly ignoring the material realities of privilege, except where it’s convenient to the plot._

_Also, I’m still kind of sad Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan broke up. I know I don’t know them or anything, but something about celebrity couple breakups always gets to me. Like, if these people can’t make it work, why are the rest of us even trying, you know? I know it’s a stupid thought. Not to sound totally full of myself, but people probably think the same kind of thing about me— and my relationship is not exactly what you’d call perfect. I guess it’s just exactly what those movies were trying to say— people are people, and love and heartbreak aren’t reserved for or exempt from anyone. I really shot myself in the foot with this one, huh?_

_I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Maybe I just watch too many movies._

_Peony_

*

Jessie went all-out, as always, in asking Harriet to the homecoming; like it wasn’t an absolute given that they’d go together; like there was even any doubt that they’d win king and queen. Harriet sighed as she tried and failed to stuff and oversized plush frog into her locker.

Someone laughed behind her. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Louise tilt her head. “Why a frog?”

Harriet grinned, despite herself. “It’s kind of a running joke,” she said. “It’s stupid. Jessie used to say I looked like a frog.” She dropped the stuffed animal to her side at last in defeat and closed her locker, turning to face Louise fully. “It really hurt my feelings when we were little. But I found out later he was trying to, like, flirt. You know. He thought he was being cute.”

“He was negging you,” Louise said.

Harriet laughed. “He was twelve.”

“Twelve year-olds are the _masters_ of negging.” She shrugged. “But I guess it worked.”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Hardly. It took years after that for him to even ask me out, let alone for me to say yes.”

Louise raised a brow, but didn’t comment. Instead, she leaned on the locker next to Harriet’s. “So, this was his homecoming-prosal, right?”

Harriet nodded.

“I didn’t see you campaigning this year.”

Harriet’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“For queen.” She tugged on her backpack strap. “Or is campaigning just for prom? I don’t really get this stuff.”

Harriet hiked the stuffed frog up under her arm and started toward her class. Louise fell into step beside her. “There’s not much to get,” Harriet said. “And yeah, campaigning is mostly for prom. But I don’t really need to campaign anymore, anyway.”

Louise laughed.

“What?”

“You’re very self-assured.”

Harriet sighed. “I don’t get why I should pretend I don’t know I’m going to win. I am. It’s not like I did anything to deserve it. What am I bragging about, exactly?”

They stopped in front of her classroom door, and at Louise’s expression, Harriet realized what she’d just said, and blushed furiously. She never talked like that so openly. Except… she wrapped her hand around her phone in her pocket. Sunflower hadn’t written her back yet.

“I think there’s plenty of reason that you win, Harriet,” Louise said, breaking Harriet from her reverie.

Harriet stared at her, but Louise just grinned, gave the frog’s nose a honk like a clown, and turned, as the bell rang, to walk away.

“Louise!”

She stopped, looking back with a raised brow.

Harriet swallowed. “Are you going?”

Louise looked confused, and pointed over shoulder. “Yeah, my class is—”

“No. To homecoming.”

Louise dropped her hand. She didn’t say anything for a long beat. “Yeah,” she said. She kind of laughed. “Yeah, I kind of— told someone I would. Sort of. It’s— not, like, a date, I mean—”

“Come over,” Harriet said.

Louise froze. “What?”

“Come to mine after the game,” Harriet said. “We can get ready for the dance together.”

Louise licked her lips. “Won’t Zaina mind?”

Harriet shrugged. “Come,” she said.

Louise nodded. “OK.”

Harriet turned, and went into her classroom frog-first.

*

Thursday, the halls were filled with last-minute attempts to get dates to the dance, as well as discussions of where to meet to go to Sephora for makeovers, and whose after party was the one to be at. Harriet watched the commotion from the sidelines, standing with her arms crossed over her chest beside a two-for-one Liam-and-Zaina, making out as always.

School never felt less like _school—_ a state-sanctioned place of learning— than on the days before a dance. Some days school was just school, even for Harriet; dull and grey and monotonous, with nothing more remarkable to report than a bad pun made over the loudspeakers. But on the days before a dance, Meadowbrook was alive; it was every high school in every teen movie ever made, and music seemed to be playing, even when the theater kids weren’t actually bursting into song.

Jessie strode toward her, grinning wide, holding onto each of his backpack straps like an over-eager kindergartener. Harriet couldn’t help but smile back. Jessie _loved_ dances. He loved _dancing_ , which was equal parts surprising and horrifying. Harriet generally restrained herself to gentle swaying and occasional hip movements when dancing in public, but Jessie reacted to music and a dance floor like bird dogs react to water. He threw himself in so fully and enthusiastically that Harriet had, on more than one occasion, spent significant portions of dances hidden in the bathroom.

She wasn’t actually embarrassed by him— he was beloved, and goofy, and he pulled it off. People cracked up when he danced, they absolutely loved it. But that was what high school boys were supposed to be— funny. Harriet was not funny. Not in public, at least. She couldn’t make a fool of herself for kicks and giggles. If she did what Jessie did, people would film it, would call her an attention whore, would make comments about her weight.

“Ready for tomorrow night?” Jessie asked, pulling her into a tight hug.

Harriet wiggled out of his arms and leveled him with a hard look. “I will slow dance with you,” she said. “And that is _it._ ”

“Awww, Harri.” He dragged out her name in a whine, still grinning, even so, as he tugged on her arm. “Come on. You always have fun when you get into it.”

Harriet shook her head, standing firm.

Zaina separated from Liam to laugh. “Li and I’ll dance with you, Jessie.”

Jessie pouted for a second longer before smiling at Zaina. “As consolation prizes go, you guys are pretty consoling.”

“Absolutely, dude,” Liam said, high-fiving him. “We’ll shred the dance floor.”

Zaina made a gagging sound. “Say that again and I’ll be sitting out with Harriet.”

Harriet went to the field after school to watch Zaina’s practice. They were gonna get mani-pedis after, and she could’ve just gone home first, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. Besides— though the loss of it wasn’t hurting her in any real way, Harriet missed cheerleading. A couple of the girls were already changed and stretching on the track when Harriet sat down in the bleachers, and she watched them, a tug in her stomach— she _did_ miss it. She missed the way their muscles flexed, the way their hair whipped around them like ribbon-twirlers; she could practically feel the strain in her own muscles, and she licked her lips as her mouth went dry. She pulled out her phone, finally, to wait until the rest of the team came out, and routines could be practiced in full.

She had an email. Smiling to herself, Harriet tucked her hair behind her ear and held her hand over the screen to read in the near-sunset glare— the days were getting short already, and soon the cheerleaders would rely on the lights around the field for regular practices. Harriet thought about all the days she’d walked back to her car in the dark— she’d kept pepper spray in her gym bag, just in case.

She held the phone up close to her face, so, from the outside, it looked like she was taking a picture.

_Peony,_

_You’re probably right— but I also think maybe we’re starting from different places on this. Cause it’s not like I think you’re some vastly different species from me because we approach high school differently. Part of the reason I don’t really care about popularity or any of that stuff is because I really believe it’s meaningless, and that we_ are _, like you said, really all the same when it comes down to it. But it’s also all the small thing that make us who we are, and as much as we might be able to adapt to each other’s circumstances, I don’t know that that adaptation wouldn’t just constitute a betrayal of our own self-hoods. For me, at least— I’m_ not _a super social person,and if I forced myself to try to be, I’d be doing just that— trying to be someone I’m not. That’s also not who I am. I don’t pretend. I’m pretty upfront— even when I don’t necessarily say everything out loud._

_I had to look up Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan— I knew Channing, but I didn’t realize that was her name. I actually didn’t know they were ever even married. Kind of a bummer to find out after they’ve already broken up._

_I don’t think “perfect” relationships even exist, to be fair. But if you don’t mind me asking— what makes you say yours isn’t?_

_Sunflower_

“Your girlfriend’s here,” someone said. Harriet looked up. It’d been Alicia speaking, down on the field— presumably to Zaina, who smiled and waved at Harriet.

“Cheer for me, babe!” Zaina called.

Harriet pocketed her phone and took in a breath that felt like a jagged-edged knife, ripping down the walls of her throat as she swallowed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: d slur (not said by any MCs)

Harriet looked at Louise’s empty hands and smiled. “Um. Where’s your dress?”

Louise stared at her. “ _My_ dress?”

“Yeah. You didn’t bring a dress?”

Zaina sighed loudly behind her. Harriet ignored her, raising a brow at Louise.

“I didn’t… no. I don’t really… have any?”

Harriet stared at her, but really, this information was not exactly surprising. She eyed Louise’s sweat-fit and grinned. “OK. It’s fine. You can borrow something of mine. What’s your palette?”

She started toward her closet as she spoke.

“My… what?”

Harriet looked over her shoulder at her. “Your palette. You know— what colors are best for your skin tone?”

Louise stared blankly at her. Harriet just laughed. “All right, don’t worry about that. We’ll figure it out. Zaina—”

“I’m not participating,” Zaina said. Harriet rolled her eyes as Louise sent Zaina a confused look. She turned back to her closet, because fine, she could do a makeover easily enough on her own. Zaina usually _loved_ makeovers, but whatever. If she wanted to be a bore, that was her right.

Harriet rifled through her hangers, grabbing a few dresses mostly at random until she landed on a pale blue mini-dress with a halter neckline and a tiny white anchor print. It wasn’t really formal enough for a dance, but Harriet had a feeling that _any_ dress would look overly-formal on Louise, so she pulled it out with a satisfied grin and held it up for Louise to see.

Louise sort of laughed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t… I don’t know, Harriet.”

Harriet swallowed around the feeling of her name in Louise’s mouth, and insisted, “Try it. I think it’s perfect— but if you hate it, you totally don’t have to wear it. Just try it, OK?”

Louise nodded hesitantly. Zaina huffed and pushed past Harriet, to her bathroom. She shut the door behind her. Harriet rolled her eyes and went back to her closet— she hadn’t actually changed yet, herself, and she opened the closet again to retrieve her own dress; the orange one she’d bought with Zaina. With it in hand, she moved toward the bed— and her gaze fell on Louise, facing the wall in the corner, topless, pushing down and kicking out of her sweatpants— leaving her in nothing but granny panties and a sports bra.

Harriet turned quickly around, but she’d somehow forgotten that the door to her closet was a mirror. It took her entirely too long to come up with the solution to that problem— that is, closing her eyes— and in the meantime she stared at Louise, trying hard to remember how to breathe.

She did, finally, and she breathed _loud,_ in a rush like a geyser. She opened her eyes and met Louise’s curious gaze in the mirror.

“I’m gonna—” She hurried to the bathroom.

Zaina paused in applying her eyeliner. “Hey.”

Harriet looked around, lost.

Zaina turned. “What?”

“Um. Nothing. I just—” She looked around, and her eyes landed on her travel makeup bag. She grabbed it and left the bathroom.

Louise was standing in front of the closet, looking herself over in the pale blue dress and looking like she didn’t know quite what to think.

Harriet forced a smile when Louise looked at her, a question in her expression. “You look great,” she said. “Definitely your color.”

Louise sighed and shrugged. “You’re the expert.” She tugged on the hem of the dress and pressed her lips in a flat line.

“OK, sit,” Harriet instructed, sitting herself, next to her dress.

Louise sat. “Is that your dress?”

Harriet glanced at it as she rifled through her makeup bag. “Yeah.” She looked at Louise and raised a brow at her expression. “Why?”

“It’s… orange.”

Harriet grinned. “Good eye.”

“Is that your… palette?”

Harriet laughed. “A palette isn’t just one color, Louise. And no, I don’t generally go for this kind of shade— but I tried it on and it looks good on me, so.” She shrugged as she scooted closer to Louise with a foundation in her hand.

Louise grinned. “I love that.”

Harriet paused, looking up at Louise’s eyes— from up close, they were an almost alarming shade of blue; the kind that seems sort of unnatural, like maybe you’re talking to some kind of fantasy creature instead of a normal human being. “What?” she asked.

“That you know.”

Harriet felt herself tilt her head like a curious puppy. “I know?”

“You know you’re beautiful,” Louise said, so easily, as she smiled, soft and nonchalant like she hadn’t just sent Harriet’s heart careening agains the walls of her chest like a silent film star fainting onto a chaise lounge.

Harriet licked her lips and cleared her throat. She opened the foundation and dabbed a bit onto Louise’s cheek. She nodded. “Perfect. I thought so— we have similar skin tones. My foundation should be fine for you, especially in low lighting.”

Louise just nodded, faint amusement obvious in her expression.

Harriet did her makeup in silence, pausing here and there to try different shades and wipe them off when they didn’t suit. She selected a solid red for the lip— she was always partial to a classic red mouth, and paired with the pale blue and white it’d be all kinds of sailor-chic.

“Am I gonna have to avoid drinking all night?” Louise asked, trying to talk without moving her mouth. “Because I don’t know if I can survive tonight without some spiked punch at the very least.”

Harriet paused with the lipstick just barely touching Louis’s lower lip. “You’ve seriously never worn makeup before?”

Louis shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure I smeared my mom’s lipstick all over my face when I was a kid, or whatever, but, no, I haven’t.”

Harriet shook her head. “Why?”

Louise shrugged again. “I guess I never really cared enough about what I looked like to take the time. Not in that way, at least. Plus, I don’t like having stuff on my face. I don’t even wear chapstick or anything unless I really have to, like, when my lips are all bleeding and—”

“I meant why are you letting me,” Harriet cut her off. “Do your makeup for you. If you don’t… like it, why let me?”

Louise closed her mouth. Her cheeks went kind of red, and she shrugged, yet again, and kind of leaned forward, until her mouth made contact with the lipstick, and Harriet was forced to take action or have Louise smudge her own chin all red.

Harriet let it go, focusing, intent, on Louise’s mouth. “Pucker a little,” she said. Louise fish-mouthed. Harriet laughed. “Not so much.” Louise laughed nervously and retracted, until her lips were just barely pursed, slightly open, so Harriet could see the barest hint of her front teeth between them.

She had thin lips; Harriet had to lean close to keep the red to her actual mouth, rather than the skin around it. She was so concentrated she forgot, for a moment, what she was actually doing, who she was doing it to— then Louise let out a little halting breath, and it hit Harriet’s face like a puff of cold air released from a door opening to a snowy day. Harriet flinched, the lipstick smudged in a line down Louise’s chin.

“Sorry,” Harriet and Louise said at the same time. Harriet leaned away, feeling herself blushing furiously, and glimpsing Louise doing the same in her peripheral vision as she looked around her, as if Kleenex might appear from thin air.

Giving up, she wetted her thumb with her tongue and leaned forward again, wiping at Louise’s chin. Louise inhaled sharply, but otherwise stayed perfectly still until Harriet had drawn away again.

“OK,” Harriet said, not meeting Louise’s eyes. “You’re done. I’m gonna change.”

“Right.”

Louise didn’t move. Harriet stood, grabbing her dress, and crossed the room to the same corner where Louise had changed. Her stripped off her jeans and her cami, leaving them in a ball on the floor, and shimmied into her dress. She pulled her hair out and reached behind her— but she couldn’t quite reach.

“Zaina!” she called.

The bathroom door opened after a long moment. Zaina came out, looking between Harriet and Louise— who was still facing the headboard of Harriet’s bed, refusing to look in Harriet’s direction.

“Zip me?” Harriet asked.

“Why didn’t you just ask her?” Zaina asked, but she walked forward and obliged.

*

There shouldn’t have been anything magical about a high school gym, even decked out in twinkling lights and glow-in-the-dark balloons. But somehow, dances always felt kind of spectacular to Harriet— kind of other-worldly, like she was living in someone else’s dream.

She knew the song that was playing— dances were always best when you knew all the music; the impulse to dance just wasn’t there if you couldn’t sing along. Harriet and Zaina exchanged a wide grin at the familiar chorus, and started toward the dance floor right away. Louise, on Harriet’s other side, lagged slightly behind. Harriet glanced back at her and gave her an encouraging smile, nodding her forward with a tilt of her head.

The three of them swayed, Zaina keeping her eyes on the door, no doubt looking out for Liam, who was parking along with Jesse. Harriet watched Louise; her movements were so stiff, she was obviously uncomfortable, but she, like the decorated gym, looked kind of spectacular in the dim, darting light. The dress really didn’t suit her, in the sense that no dress would really suit her, but she was pretty, anyway, in a delicate, flower petal kind of way.

“Hey, Louise!” someone yelled. “What’s with the girl costume? Forget your tux at the dry cleaners?”

Louise flipped the bird in no direction in particular, and stopped swaying, crossing her arms over her chest. She said something Harriet couldn’t hear. She leaned closer as Zaina, beside her, yelled obscenities at someone. “What?”

“I’m gonna go pee,” Louise yelled. Harriet nodded and watched her go. She turned, after a long moment, toward Zaina.

“What are you doing?”

“Just because you want to humiliate her doesn’t mean I do,” Zaina said. Liam came through the doors, and she beamed and ran off without another word.

Jesse was just behind him. Harriet let him come to her, and leaned into his embrace as he threaded his arms around her. “I love this song,” he murmured into her ear. She lowered her forehead onto his shoulder. He touched her chin and raised her eyes to meet his. “Is everything OK?”

She nodded and let him move them; let him lead so much she was hardly more than a puppet in his arms. She felt so tired all of the sudden— he was the only thing holding her up.

The song changed, and several people hooted, as teachers instinctively straightened and started to dive into the crowd, knowing, from the beat alone, that the grinding was about to get to _Dirty Dancing_ levels of not-school-appropriate. Harriet didn’t change her position for a long moment, her stomach churning. Then she glanced toward the bathrooms. Louise was standing there, leaning against the wall. She was already looking at Harriet. Harriet couldn’t read her expression— not from this distance.

Someone approached Louise from the side— a guy, the guy Alicia liked, with the piercings and the dyed-blond hair, the guy Louise had kissed at the party. He leaned against the wall and smiled at Louise. As Harriet watched, he reached out for her waist, and Louise batted his hand away. Beside Harriet, someone laughed. Harriet startled and glanced over— it was two girls she didn’t know. They were watching Louise and the guy. One of them leaned in toward the other’s ear, and they both laughed. Harriet didn’t know what they were saying. She didn’t _know_ , but she had ideas.

Jesse sort of bumped her, kind of a nudge of suggestion, and Harriet willfully turned in his arms, so her back was up against him. She moved with the music, she moved in a way that could get them booted from the dance floor by the chaperones. Jesse responded in kind, and Harriet’s stomach lurched, like muscle memory. She squashed the instinct and spun again, shoving herself up against Jesse like she was pushing something into his hands for him to hold for her. She met his face with her own before he could even close his eyes, and she curled her tongue in his mouth like she was tying a cherry stem. He was like putty in her arms— now _she_ was holding _him_ up. He didn’t get used to her. He didn’t build up immunity. Every kiss she gave him was like the first, knocking him off his feet, shocking him like the adrenaline of a sky dive.

Harriet opened her eyes. She didn’t really mean to, but by the time she realized that maybe she shouldn’t, she already was. She looked at Louise. Louise, _again,_ was already looking back.

When the song had ended, she separated herself from Jesse, and moved through the crowd, woozy like she’d had more than one shot of something strong. She stopped by the punch bowl and just put her hands on the table, staring down at the red drink and thinking of _Carrie._

“Hot date, Harriet,” Kat Parker said, reaching around her to fill up her cup.

Harriet gave her an incredulous look.

“You should hurry, though.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t she turn back into a dyke at midnight?” Kat raised a brow.

“Why?” Harriet asked, without pause. “You looking for a scissor sister?”

Kat gaped and nearly spilled her punch on herself.

Harriet gave her an unimpressed once-over. “Even lesbians can do better, Parker,” she said, “but I’ll let her know you’re interested, shall I?”

She let her hair hit her as she spun away.

Every stall in the girl’s bathroom was full. She let herself into the blessedly unlocked library and squatted on the floor, in the dark, until she could breathe again. Then she texted Jesse to meet her, and made out with him in the stacks until she couldn’t feel her own mouth.

She didn’t give Louise a ride home.


	10. Chapter 10

_Peony,_

_I know you haven’t written me back yet, and I’m kind of breaking some kind of unwritten (ha) rule by writing you first. I guess I just don’t really care. I want to talk to someone right now._

_I want to talk to_ you _right now._

_I went to the homecoming. You were right the first time— when you said not to bother._

_People are liars, you know? People say ‘get out or your comfort zone!’, like that’s what it takes to really experience life. I was way out of my comfort zone at that dance, and I’m not better for it. You know I really thought it might be… something? Some kind of magical, like that scene where Hilary Duff walks down the stairs to ‘Best Day of My Life’ in_ A Cinderella Story _. But I’m not Hilary Duff. That’s the thing about those movies. They try to convince you that they’re about underdogs, misfits— but they cast_ Hilary Duff. _She was probably homecoming queen in real life._

_People like me don’t get Cinderella stories. I’m not even the right kind of misfit to deserve a happily ever after._

_Sorry. My mom says I can be melodramatic. Probably just ignore this. Ignore me. It’s not like you’d be the only one._

_Sunflower_

Harriet felt queasy as she read the email over and over. Sunflower had _been there_ , last night. She’d watched as Harriet was crowned homecoming queen. It was humiliating, somehow, thinking of Sunflower watching that, not knowing it was her.

The dance had gone wrong for her, too. That was kind of a relief— misery loves company, after all. Harriet kept clicking back to Louise’s Instagram. It wasn’t so bad, really. So she’d left without her. So what? People hardly ever left dances or parties or whatever with exactly the same group they arrived with. It wasn’t like Louise couldn’t find another ride. And so she’d dragged her there, and ditched her the whole night. So what? She spent the dance with her boyfriend. What else could anyone expect? What, was she supposed to _dance_ with her? Like that would ever happen. It probably wasn’t even allowed.

Harriet closed her laptop. She needed to get out of the house. Sunflower was right. People _were_ liars. They were liars when they said that queens had it all. What did Harriet have? A headache. And sore feet.

She grabbed her coat and lopped downstairs. Anne looked up from where she was working at the kitchen table.

“Hi, honey.”

“I have a headache.”

Anne stood and started toward the cabinets. “Do you want Excedrin? Ibuprofen?”

Harriet shook her head. “I just need water. I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Anne raised a brow. “A walk… to water?”

Harriet rolled her eyes and opened the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. She waved it, giving her mom an unimpressed look, and turned toward the front door.

“Don’t forget your gloves, honey! It’s a cold one out there today.”

Harriet grabbed her gloves and slammed the front door behind her.

What was wrong with her? Nothing made her happy. She didn’t want to go see her boyfriend, she didn’t want to ask Zaina what parties were happening tonight. She didn’t care about the plastic crown sitting on her bedside table at home, she didn’t want to put it next to the others on top of her bookshelf. Lately she was just so _angry_ all the time. And she didn’t know what she was angry about, or who she was angry _at._ It was just a simmering rage like the sound a kettle makes in the moments before it whistles. She didn’t know what to do with it. But she couldn’t seem to make it go away.

She walked to the playground a few streets down and lowered herself onto the swing. Too late she realized the swings were wet with that morning’s light rain. She let out an irritated little huff, standing and wrenching around to look at the back of her pants, but it was done now, anyway, so she sat back down. She let her feet skid over the ground as she pulled out her phone and read over Sunflower’s email again. It was a glimpse of sanity in a world gone mad— Sunflower was angry, too; Harriet could feel it in every word she’d clacked with harsh fingers on her keyboard. She felt vindicated and even more angry, on Sunflower’s behalf. What had happened, who had upset her? The dance should’ve just been boring for someone so uninvested. But it seemed like something had gone truly wrong.

She dug the toe of her boot into the sand under the swing and typed out a reply.

_Sunflower,_

_At least you had the excuse of being out of your comfort zone. I was smack in the middle of mine, and I was miserable. I never really_ liked _dances, but this one… I hated it. Maybe I’ve been talking to you too much, haha. I’m just over it, you know? All of it. High school. The things people say to each other, the way we’re supposed to act. Everyone thinks I’m so happy all the time. You know I was in a hospital last year? I almost had to redo the year, my grades got so low, and I spent the first weeks of summer in a psychiatric ward, like_ Girl, Interrupted _or something. I mean, it wasn’t like that. But like… that’s where I was at. And nobody had any idea. Literally, my best friend didn’t even know. No one even knew anything was wrong at all. Because I do it all, you know? I wear the dress. I dance. I pose for photographs. And apparently that means I’m happy. Like, what the fuck, right? Says_ who?

_Peony_

Harriet hit send before she could change her mind, and then, of course, immediately regretted it. She desperately opened Safari and googled how to retrieve an already-sent email, to no avail. As she stared at her phone screen in horror, a call came in.

“I bought cookie dough,” Zaina said, in lieu of a greeting. “One roll for baking, and one for eating. You’re not busy tonight, are you?”

“I’ll be there,” Harriet said. “Hey, do you know how to get back an email you sent?”

“You can’t,” Zaina said. “Why? Who’s got your nudes?”

“Ew, Z, who _emails_ nudes?”

“Why not? Old school. Kind of sexy. Like letter-writing or whatever.”

“You are so weird. I’ll bring face masks.”

“OK, but not Gemma’s, OK? My face was burning for like three days last time.”

“I know. Plus she noticed we took them.”

“ _How?_ She has, like, hundreds.”

“She’s out of her mind. I’ll be there at six.”

“Wear something cute. Where’s that pink silk PJ set, you know, with the little roses? I want to gram this.”

“Are you my mother? Don’t say _gram._ ”

“Whatever, you don’t even _have_ a gram.”

“It’s a personal choice.”

“A personal choice to be out of touch.”

“Of course I’m out of touch. I’m _aloof._ ”

Zaina laughed. “Don’t say that like you’re _proud_ of it.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You’re the worst. See you at six.” She hung up.

Harriet opened her email again and stared at her sent folder. It was too late. She’d done it, so it was done. She stood up and headed home to look for the pink silk PJ set with the little roses.

*

Louise wouldn’t look at Harriet on Monday. She kept glancing over, and she knew, somehow, that Louise could feel her looking, but she didn’t look back. Finally, in Humanities, Harriet confronted her directly.

“Sorry we didn’t give you a ride home Friday,” Harriet said. “Jesse was in a rush to get home. Did you make it back OK?”

Louise still didn’t look at Harriet. “It’s fine,” she said, after what felt like a deliberately long pause.

Harriet felt a sensation in her chest like a towel being wrung out. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

Louise looked up. “Why do you care?”

Harriet blinked at her. “I… we’re friends.”

“No we’re not, Harriet.” She shook her head. “What is this?”

Niall and Zaina were staring now, semi-gaping, shameless. Harriet felt her face flaming. “I don’t know why you’re being weird. We’ve hung out. We’re friends.”

“Friends don’t ditch each other.”

Zaina scoffed. “Maybe _yours_ don’t.”

Harriet kicked her.

Louise glanced between them, looking slightly less peeved, now, maybe sort of confused, instead.

“I said sorry,” Harriet told Louise. “What do you want, a written apology?”

Louise raised a brow. She shrugged and shook her head, looking down at her notebook again. “Whatever.”

Harriet caught Niall giving her a strange look. She frowned at him, and he kind of grinned, rolling his eyes and looking back at his phone.

“We…” Harriet looked back at Louise at the sound of her voice. Louise cleared her throat and started again. “We were gonna go on a hike Wednesday. You know, because it’s a half-day.”

Zaina perked up. “I forgot about that!” She pulled out her phone, no doubt to text Liam.

Harriet looked back at Louise, who still wasn’t making eye contact with her. “You can come,” she said to her desk. “If you want.”

Harriet glanced at Niall again. He didn’t look back, this time.

“Yeah,” she said— amazing herself. “OK.”

Zaina looked up from her phone with a laugh. “ _You’re_ gonna _hike?_ ”

Harriet glared at her.

“It’s not an intense hike or anything,” Louise rushed to put in. “We were gonna bring a picnic. Niall’s girlfriend is coming, too. Um, you can invite your boyfriend, if you want. And Zaina…”

Zaina looked thoughtful. “Yeah, actually. A picnic in the woods sounds romantic. Liam and I’ll be there.”

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Harriet said to Niall. He looked up from his phone.

“Sure,” he said. “She goes to Monty Prep.”

“Oh.”

“So you’ll come?”

Harriet looked at Louise. She couldn’t read her expression. She nodded, and Louise smiled, and Harriet’s heart beat hard against her ribs; a bird thrusting itself against its cage, trying desperately to get out.

Sometimes no one was more of a mystery to Harriet than herself.

She turned back to the front of the room.

*

Harriet dove for her phone at the sound of the notification. Jesse laughed.

“What’s with that? You never keep your sound on.”

“I was waiting for an email.”

“Oh, from Princeton?”

Harriet looked at him. “Yeah,” she lied.

He nodded, easily assuaged, and she looked down at her phone again. Sunflower had finally written her back.

“I have to pee,” she said. She stood and went toward his bedroom door.

“You can use mine,” he said, confused.

“I’m gonna use the one in the hall.”

“But—” he blushed and cleared his throat. “Um, sure, go ahead.”

She closed his door behind her and rolled her eyes. Like she really would have felt the need to go into the hall to do anything other than pee. She wasn’t one of those girlfriends, she never had been. He’d been inside of her— what was the point in being embarrassed about anything in front of him?

She closed the hall bathroom door behind her and sat down on the side of the tub. This bathroom always smelled overwhelmingly like potpourri. It reminded her of her grandma’s house.

Harriet took in a shaky breath and opened the email. She bit her lip and read.

_Peony,_

_Sorry for the late response. I’m gonna be honest, since you were— I didn’t really know what to say at first. I guess I still kind of don’t. But I’m glad you told me what you did. You said your best friend didn’t even know what was going on, and I don’t know if that’s still true, but— I just think it’s not good to keep that kind of stuff to yourself, you know? You have to be honest with somebody or I think you can start lying even to yourself, and not realize it._

_Do you want to tell me more about it? Like, what was going on with you, what you were hospitalized for? You can, if you want to. I want to hear it, if you want to tell me. But I only want what you’re ready to give. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m not asking because I’m, like, curious, or something. But I am here if you want me._

_And yeah. To all of it. It’s like people think because teenagers in movies are always shouting about their emotions and listening to loud music, that means all of us wear our hearts on our sleeves, or something. What a joke. I doubt ten people in our school, total, are upfront about their emotions all of the time. High school seems to be all_ about _putting on a front._

_Even I’m not honest all the time. I don’t think I’m pretending, usually— but I’m not saying any more than I need to, you know what I mean?_

_I’m honest with you, though._

_Sunflower_

Harriet clicked off her phone and stared at the opposite wall; there was a framed little pastoral painting, a girl holding a bucket, standing by a stream. Whenever a song got stuck in her head, it was just one line, playing on repeat, like a mantra. She let out a breath that sounded like someone who’d been drowning, gasping for air. _I am here if you want me. I am here if you want me. I am here if you want me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mirrorball by taylor swift was written about and for this fic i don't make the rules


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mention of eating disorder

“What is _that?_ ”

“What?”

“What are you _wearing?_ ”

Harriet looked down at her outfit. She shrugged. “Hiking clothes.”

“We’re not going to a Burberry photoshoot, you know,” Zaina said, shaking her head. “You’re gonna freeze to death!”

“It’s not _that_ cold. And we’ll be moving. Blood flowing and all that.”

“You’re an idiot. And what about ticks?”

“It’s almost winter!”

“So what? I’m gonna have to check you when we get back. This is a ploy to get me to fondle you, isn’t it?”

Harriet rolled her eyes, trying hard not to blush. Zaina just snorted and got in the car. Liam looked over his shoulder and grinned at Harriet. “Won’t you be cold?”

“Shut up,” she muttered. Zaina cackled.

Louise, Niall, and a chubby blonde girl wearing pig-tail braids were already at the trailhead when they arrived. The girl howled as they piled out of the car, seemingly because Niall was tickling her and burying his face in her neck. Harriet raised a brow and looked at Louise.

Louise just smiled, looking tiny in her beanie and her puffy coat, and holding a giant picnic basket in front of her. Harriet’s stomach did a little flip like those waffle irons they have in hotels and cafeterias. She licked her lips and walked toward Louise without really thinking about it.

“Aren’t you cold?” Louise asked, before Harriet could say hello.

She huffed. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? We’re going hiking! It’s not like I’d wear this to stand still in my backyard, or something. Don’t you get hot when you’re moving around so much?”

Louise kind of laughed at Harriet’s little rant and shrugged, nonplussed. “You know your body best,” she said, and for some reason Harriet felt her face go hot.

“Right,” Niall called out over the group. “Shall we go?”

“Jesse’s not here yet,” Liam said. Harriet looked at him, surprised. She’d almost forgotten that Jesse was even coming.

He pulled into the dirt lot a few minutes later, kicking up dirt, and they started off down the trail. Louise and Harriet fell in step next to each other as Jesse and Liam wrestled at the back of the group. Harriet glanced down at Louise and caught her sort of smirking.

“What?” she asked, hearing the smile in her own voice.

“Hiking in pink,” Louise said. “Only you.”

“ _That’s_ your problem with my outfit?”

“I didn’t say it was a problem.”

Harriet looked away from her, shaking her head, still feeling the smile on her own mouth like sap on her fingers or milk on her upper lip— she didn’t really mean for it to be there, but she must have put it there herself, anyway.

The trees were vibrant and high around them; Harriet looked up and around herself as they walked on the relatively flat, easy trail. Niall and his girlfriend were singing some version of “99 Bottles” and Zaina kept dragging Liam to stops so she could take pictures of leaves and birds and him, which Jesse mercilessly photo-bombed.

“You hike a lot?” Harriet asked, looking down at Louise again. She thought about asking if she could take the basket for a while, but quickly shut the thought down, looking forward again instead.

“I don’t know if I’d say a _lot,_ ” Louise said. She chuckled. “I can be kind of lazy sometimes. But I like hiking.”

Harriet nodded. “I—”

Jesse cut her off, tackling her from behind into a bear hug. “Good thing I layered,” he said, shoving in between Harriet and Louise, wrapping an arm around Harriet’s waist and tugging gently on her curls. “You’re gonna get cold, babe.”

Harriet rolled her eyes and shoved him away. “I’m fine, Jesse. I’m not a child.”

He raised a brow and glanced from her to Louise. He grinned. “What’s in the basket?”

Louise shrugged. “Sandwiches. Chips, fruit. And Niall’s got cider in his bag. It’s insulated.”

“Cider?”

“Angry Orchard.”

Liam grinned. “Nice. Harriet won’t eat the sandwiches or chips, though. She’s not big on carbs.”

Louise looked at Harriet, inquisitive, and Harriet’s face felt hot again as she shook her head. “It’s fine, Jesse. I can eat a sandwich, I’m not gonna die.”

He looked at her, obviously surprised. “OK. But I have—” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ziplock baggie of nuts. He grinned. “Trail mix. You know. ’Cause we’re on a trail.”

Harriet couldn’t help smiling. She rolled her eyes and nudged him. “Thank you.”

Jesse grinned wider and looked at Louise. “No M&Ms, though,” he said, sadly.

“What’s the point?” Louise asked, but she wasn’t quite smiling, despite the humor in her voice.

“Right?”

They climbed over rocks and crossed a stream, and finally came to a stop in a clearing that reminded Harriet uncannily of _Twilight._ Niall pulled a worn old blanket from his backpack, and Louise set down the basket and started unpacking its contents. Zaina and Liam were kissing already, and Niall’s girlfriend kept bending down, staring at something among the grass.

Settling onto the blanket, Harriet accepted a cider from Niall and pulled her knees up to her chest as Jesse took off the cap for her. Louise glanced between them, popping the cap off her own bottle. She locked eyes with Harriet as she took her first swig, and Harriet looked away— up at the sunlight filtering through the trees.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Jesse said, smiling wide and friendly at Niall’s girlfriend.

“Oh! I’m Jean.” She smiled, and accepted Jesse’s handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Jean. Do you go to Meadowbrook?”

She shook her head. “Monty Prep.”

“Oh, right.” Jesse nodded. Harriet stared at the blanket and took several drinks from her cider in a row, until the neck of the bottle was empty.

“You’re shivering,” Jesse said. She looked at him, and down at herself, as if to check whether this was true. Jesse shrugged out of his over-sized coat, under which he was still wearing a jacket and a sweater, and threw it over her shoulders.

Harriet could feel Louise looking at them. She chanced a glance, almost against her own will. Louise fiddled with the zipper of her own jacket and grabbed a sandwich, dropping her gaze to her lap.

Harriet drew Jesse’s coat tighter around her shoulders. “Zaina,” she said. Zaina turned away from Liam, expectant. “Let’s take pictures.”

Zaina nodded, standing and pulling out her phone. She glanced around the group. “Jean, Louise,” she said. “Would you guys pose for me, too?”

Jean beamed. “I’d love to!”

“Um,” Louise said.

“I won’t make you do anything embarrassing,” Zaina said, with a soft, reassuring smile aimed at her that made Harriet stuff her hands into her—Jesse’s— pockets, fisted. “Promise.”

Louise stood after another beat of hesitation, and followed them toward the edge of clearing, and a toppled, overgrown tree trunk, just off the trail.

“OK,” Zaina said, examining them all with an appraising look. Harriet waited patiently for instructions as the other two fidgeted nervously on either side of her. “Jean, you sit, facing away from them— yes, like that. Cross your legs, please. No, I mean— at the knee. Yes, perfect. OK.”

She stepped forward and adjusted Jean’s hair band. Jean let out a delighted little trill of laughter and sat still, letting herself be postured like a doll.

“Harriet,” Zaina said, “sit right there. Face me. Give me Angelina Jolie in _Salt._ ”

Harriet obediently sat, crossing her legs at the ankle and staring at Zaina head-on, her head tilted just slightly forward, so she could look up, barely, from under her lashes. Zaina nodded, pleased.

“Louise,” she said. “On Harriet’s other side. Straddle the log, please.”

Louise swung her leg over the tree. She crossed her arms over her chest— from Harriet’s periphery, she looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Scoot forward, please,” Zaina said. “Closer to Harriet. Closer, please.” She nodded. “OK. Uncross your arms. Now—” She paused, then stepped forward, handing Harriet her phone for a moment so she’d have both hands at her disposal. She tugged at Louise’s hands, placing them flat on the log, barely inches away from Harriet’s thigh, bare where her dress rode up. Harriet could almost feel them, like when kids would hold their finger up close to your face and say ‘I’m not touching you,’ just to cause frustration.

Zaina nodded, satisfied, and stepped back. She bent unnaturally to get the right angle, and a little laugh burst out of Jean, who seemed to be struggling to stay still.

“Don’t move, please,” Zaina said. She glanced over her phone. “Louise, don’t smile.”

“I—”

Harriet glanced at her, and Louise’s smile fell off her face.

“Hold that!” Zaina said. Harriet startled and looked forward again. “No, Harriet, you too. That was good. Look at Louise again. Jean, glance over your shoulder at them. Bite your lip, maybe? Yes! OK. Hold that.”

Harriet felt herself flush as she stared at Louise; as Louise stared at her. Suddenly she was so hungry she could have eaten all the sandwiches Louise had packed, carbs and all. Louise huffed out a little breath; it smelled like cider. Harriet couldn’t stand it any longer. She looked back at Zaina.

“OK,” Zaina said, nodding decisively, looking down at her phone. “Thank you, guys!”

Harriet stood up on wobbly legs and walked back to the blanket, falling promptly down into Jesse’s lap.

Jesse laugh. “Whoa, light weight. Have you even finished your first bottle? You’ve got doe legs, there.”

“I’m just hungry,” Harriet said.

Louise, sitting across from them, held a sandwich out to her.

Harriet licked her lips and shook her head. “Thank you, but—” she looked over her shoulder at Jesse. “Can I have that trail mix?”

“Of course, baby.”

Louise lay back flat on the blanket and balanced a new bottle of cider on her stomach. Harriet watched it, and as Louise heaved a sigh, she jumped forward, catching the bottle before it could fall.

Louise took the bottle from her, wrapping her fingers around its neck, like she was intentionally avoiding brushing Harriet’s hand. “Thanks,” she said. “Sorry.”

Harriet wondered what, specifically, she was apologizing for.

*

_Sunflower,_

_I don’t think I even know, half the time, when I’m not being honest. I’m realizing lately that I don’t feel like I know all that much more about what’s going on in my own head than anyone else does— like if someone asked me, “How are you?”, my guess would be as good as theirs._

_The official diagnosis was that I was bulimic. Or I am bulimic, I guess. They always want to make sure you know that these things don’t just go away. Like that’s what anyone wants to hear when they’re trying to get better._

_No one knew about it because my weight never really changed. I would have had to tell them, you know? When you see this stuff in movies or whatever, it’s like, yeah people know, of course they know, look at you. But it wasn’t like that for me. My parents picked up on it eventually, I guess because we live together and share bathrooms and everything. But it was easy to keep it from everyone else. They never would have guessed._

_I guess this isn’t “out loud,” so maybe it still doesn’t count, but… you’re the first person I’ve actually told. I don’t have to tell you not to tell anyone, though. You don’t even know who I am._

_I am doing better, so you don’t have to ask. But my therapist says eating disorders are usually just a symptom of something greater going on. She says she thinks, for me, it’s about control. That I feel out of control._

_Of course I do, though, right? I’m in high school._

_Peony_

*

The hall of Gemma’s dorm smelled like weed, but her room smelled like fresh laundry and that one incense from that boutique by their grandma’s house that looked like an Anthropologie. Harriet sat on Gemma’s bed and flipped through a psych textbook as Gemma repeatedly hung up and took back down the art print they’d found earlier that day, at the art faire the town hosted annually on the street with all the wind chimes. It was tradition for Harriet and Gemma to go together, to make fun of the bad art and spend exorbitant amounts of money on the few pieces they actually liked, and so far Gemma hadn’t let college get in the way of that. Harriet sort of wished she would— she must have described, in detail, every date she and Jesse had been on for the last six months. Gemma was particularly excited about the picnic. Harriet didn’t mention that it hadn’t felt like a date. The more fodder Gemma had, the less likely she was to ask anything real.

“You’re OK, right?” Gemma asked— as if she’d been reading Harriet’s mind.

Harriet just stared at her.

“It’s just, mom and dad have been so weird lately.” Gemma shook her head and hung the print up again, eyeing it with a tilted head. “They keep asking me to check up on you. I don’t even know what that _means,_ like— you’re _you._ ” Gemma turned with a raised brow. “What needs checking up on?”

Harriet shrugged and rolled her eyes, trying to loosen her stiff shoulders. “They’re probably just worried about my grades,” she said.

“Why? Are they bad?”

Harriet rolled her eyes again. “No, Gemma. But they have to stay up if I’m gonna get into a good school.”

“But you’re not going to Princeton anymore, right? You’re coming here.”

Harriet nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“So you’re fine. I mean, I love this place, but it’s not Princeton. You’re fine.” Gemma shook her head. “They need to lighten up. They shouldn’t put so much pressure on you.”

Harriet felt a little smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She almost said thank you, but that felt like… too much, or something. She felt light, though. And she never felt light around Gemma.

“Your senior year should be _fun,_ ” Gemma said. “You should be getting _into_ trouble, not staying out of it.” She turned to Harriet with a little grin. “So. Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Been getting into trouble.”

Harriet chewed on her bottom lip. “Define trouble.”

“ _Risks,_ Harriet. _Fun._ The kind of stuff you do just _to_ regret it later.” She beamed.

Harriet shrugged.

“Well,” Gemma said, “get on it, then. You know you only have a few more months before you can be tried as an adult.”

Harriet snorted. “What am I gonna do, murder someone?”

Gemma wrinkled her nose. “Better not, they do tend to try seventeen year-olds as adults for that, anyway.”

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m serious, though, Harriet.” Gemma nodded sagely. She pointed at her with her phone. “ _Risks._ ”

“OK,” Harriet said, rolling her eyes again. “I’m gonna go, Gem.”

“Yeah. See you later.”

Harriet closed Gemma’s door behind her and slipped her phone out of her pocket. She opened her messages and tapped Louise’s name.

_what r u doing tn?_


	12. Chapter 12

“You’re not taking me out here to _Cabin in the Woods_ me, are you?”

“If by that you mean sacrifice you to the old gods, then no.”

“New gods, then?”

“Still no.”

“Just plain old, non-sacrifice-y murder?”

Louise grinned over her shoulder. “Yeah. I like to keep it simple, you know?”

“Yeah, less is more.”

“Exactly.”

Harriet grinned and shivered. “Seriously, though. Where are you taking me?”

“You said, ‘surprise me.’”

Harriet laughed. “I did, didn’t I?”

She didn’t have to wonder long, anyway, because Louise was coming to a stop. Harriet stepped up next to her, and realized what she was looking at. It was so dark out, she might not have noticed the lake at all if Louise hadn’t stopped. She looked at Louise and shook her head hard and fast.

“No,” she said. “Nuh uh. No way. I am not going in that. It’s _cold!_ It’s _night time!_ ”

“No?”

Harriet kept shaking her head. Louise just grinned, stripping out of her clothes. Harriet froze. Louise only stopped when she was down to her underwear. She looked at Harriet and shrugged. “OK,” she said, and turned, and jumped in.

A laugh burst out of Harriet like a balloon popping, and she shrieked as she was splashed by icy cold water.

Shivering even harder, she stared down as Louise’s head crested the inky-black surface of the lake, her hair just barely touched by moonlight filtered down through the trees. “Come on,” she said. “You wanted to do something fun.”

“ _This_ is not _fun,_ ” Harriet said, an incredulous laugh following her words as she hugged herself tighter. “You’re out of your mind! It’s winter!”

“It’s not winter.”

“It’s fall!”

Then Harriet was shocked into silence. Louise actually started to bock. Like a chicken.

“You are not— you are _not_ bocking at me!”

“Kinda seems like I am.”

“You’re twelve.”

“My birth certificate says otherwise. Are you getting in, cheerleader, or am I gonna have to drag you?”

Harriet dropped her arms to her sides. After a moment’s pause, she stripped, and jumped. As she gasped for air, sputtering and shivering so hard she could barely tread water, she shoved at Louise, and splashed her for good measure.

“I’m not a cheerleader anymore,” she said.

Louise quirked a brow. “So what are you?”

*

Zaina kept looking at Harriet the way people in movies look at someone they suspect has committed a murder.

 _“What?”_ Harriet asked, finally cracking, and turning to Zaina with her arms crossed over her chest.

“You seem… happy.”

Harriet startled and rolled her eyes. “Wow, Z. Call the feds, I’m in a good mood. What’s your problem?”

“You’re creeping me out,” Zaina said, blunt as ever.

Harriet let a laugh burst out. “You are such a jerk!”

Zaina was grinning now, shrugging as Harriet shoved at her. “I’m just saying. You’re giving me Bundy vibes.”

“I’m ignoring you.”

Zaina started humming _Psycho Killer._ Harriet laughed again, despite herself, and gave Zaina a smack on the arm.

“You see! Brutality against women! I’m right, as usual.” Zaina leaned close. “Listen, if you’re going to start killing pets, can you just leave Beanie be? You owe me that much, I think. I’ve given you thousands of hair ties.”

“Zaina, if you don’t shut up, I _will_ hurt you.”

Zaina wiggled her brows. “Kinky.”

Harriet squeezed her eyes shut and made a noise of disgust, feeling her face flame.

“Seriously,” Zaina said. “Are you gonna tell me what’s got you all smiley, or what?”

Harriet shrugged.

“No. This isn’t ‘I had a good night’s sleep’ Harriet.” Zaina leaned away again, eyes roaming over Harriet, inspective. Harriet fidgeted under her gaze, narrowing her eyes when Zaina met them.

Zaina grinned. “You got laid.”

“What!” Harriet sputtered, “I— what are you— I’m— I have a boyfriend, Zaina!”

“Obviously,” Zaina said, rolling her eyes. “And you guys had sex last night. Really good sex, I guess. He went down on you, right? Was it a long time? How long? Oh my— you _did_ kill someone, didn’t you? You suffocated him!”

Harriet swatted at Zaina as she laughed and laughed at her own jokes.

“You are the _worst,_ ” Harriet said.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

Harriet crossed her arms over her chest again and leaned back against the wall behind them, staring out across the quad. Louise was just arriving, pulling Niall up with one hand from where he was sitting under a tree.

“I didn’t have sex,” Harriet said. “I just had a good night.”

“Boring,” Zaina said, but she dropped it, grinning wide as Liam approached. Harriet slipped her phone out of her pocket. She hadn’t checked her email today, at least not since waking up. She did then— and there was an email from Sunflower. Harriet smiled and held the phone up close to her face, using her hand to block the glare of the early morning sunlight.

“Hey,” Zaina said, nudging Harriet, who nearly dropped her phone, startled. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

Harriet nodded and tucked her phone away for the moment. Zaina was still looking at her with prying, suspicious eyes. Sunflower would have to wait.

*

Jesse picked at Harriet’s coffee cake, having already finished his old-fashioned donut, and stared out the window, ignoring his homework, sprawled out before him as if for display.

“Jesse,” Harriet said, barely refraining from letting out a frustrated huff. “Come on. This is due tomorrow.”

“I know, I know.” He smiled at her. “I just can’t focus on school lately, you know? With… everything.”

Harriet let her pen slip down in her hand, so it rested mostly against her wrist. “What do you mean?” she asked, a little bud of nausea opening in her stomach.

“Just that everything’s changing, you know? I mean, soon.” He shrugged. “Senioritis.”

“Oh,” Harriet breathed a sigh of relief and reached out, pulling off a piece of coffee cake and popping it into her mouth. She followed his gaze out the window, to the street, and the people walking by. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s… weird.”

“This time next year,” Jesse said, looking at her now, his eyes alight with excitement, “we’re gonna be at _Princeton._ We’ll be doing _Princeton_ homework in a _Princeton_ coffee shop. I mean, how crazy is that? And meanwhile, we’re supposed to just… carry on.” He laughed. “It’s like trying to get work done on a plane, you know? I’m too excited.” He yawned. “And tired,” he added, smiling at her, soft and giddy and sleepy.

Harriet nodded, probably for too long, like a doll, or someone trying not to fall asleep, startling repeatedly awake. She didn’t say anything. She _couldn’t_ say anything that would be honest, in the face of the lie hovering in the air between them, in Jesse’s eyes, in his voice around the word _Princeton,_ like a kid might say _Narnia_ or _Hogwarts._

She thought of Sunflower. Sunflower didn’t know this, the taste of lies on the back of your tongue thick like something bitter, only getting worse when you leave them unspoken. She was real, a wild hare in the face of Harriet’s velveteen rabbit.

 _This time next year._ She didn’t understand how Jesse could say that like it was _soon._ There was a _year_ left of this— of dates at the coffee shop, of football games.

 _Of Louise,_ her mind supplied. She had an instinct to kick herself under the table. “Ow!” Jesse yelped. He laughed, giving her a bemused grin. “What was that for?”

“Sorry,” Harriet said. “Leg spasm.”

“Are those real? I thought that was just a thing kids said to get away with being bullies.”

“Of course they’re real. Now be quiet and do your homework.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, but dutifully turned to face forward, leaning down over his notebook with a sigh.

Harriet hated to go back on her own words by distracting him, but the question itched at the back of her throat like she’d swallowed poison oak.

“Jess.”

“Yeah?” He looked up, a hint of relief in his eyes, already, at an excuse to be distracted from his work.

“If we went to different schools next year,” she said, “do you think we’d stay together?”

Jesse looked nonplussed, but untroubled. “Sure,” he said. “Of course. I mean, it’s us.” It was so easy and obvious, in his voice. _Us._ Harriet thought of Jordan Peele.

Jesse grinned. “Why— you thinking of leaving me for greener pastures, frog?” He looked back at his homework and sang “Down By the Banks” too loud for the quiet space. She kicked him on purpose this time.

*

Harriet toed off her shoes at the door and started at a run toward the stairs. Anne laughed, surprised. “In a hurry?”

Harriet glanced back at her. She stopped short. “No,” she said.

Anne raised a brow. Harriet waited another moment before going upstairs at a more regulated pace.

In her room, she tossed her backpack on the chair and collapsed on her bed, letting out a breath and staring up at the ceiling for just a fraction of a moment before grabbing for her laptop and keying in her password.

Louise’s Instagram was open on her home screen. She paused for a moment, her mouse already hovering over the email icon. Fast, before she could stop herself, she dragged the mouse up and refreshed the page. Louise had posted a new photo— a picture of herself, taken by someone else, probably Niall. She was laying on her bed, staring upside down at the camera, one leg bent, an arm blocking half her face. She was grinning. Harriet stared and stared. She took in a shaky breath and closed the page. She double-clicked the email icon and put Louise from her mind.

_Peony,_

_I get it. When I came out to my mom, I felt like I had no one to talk to about it— because I wasn’t out to anyone else. I mean, besides my best friend— but they have it so much harder, it feels like, I mean, being trans is its own can of worms. Even if you pass._

_But it’s just that, you know? You’re alone in it, unless you tell someone— and you can’t tell anyone,_ because _you’re alone in it. Classic, stupid_ Catch-22. _(Look at me, referencing a book I never even finished. I mean, at least I didn’t_ start _with Sparknotes, right?)_

_Telling me still counts, if you ask me. I’m glad you did. And about control— they only have us eight hours out of twenty-four, right? So maybe we should just… try. Take the control back. I mean, sure, next year we’ll be in college, which is like, free rein, or whatever, at least according to, like, every movie ever made. But for now— maybe just a few hours a week, we do something we want to. Something they— whoever “they” really are, right?— maybe wouldn’t want us to. It’s ours. The decision. And you know what? I think maybe I’ve started already._

_Sunflower_

Harriet read the second sentence over and over until she had to blink rapidly, her eyes burning from how wide and how long she’d kept them open. _When I came out._

Sunflower was gay. That’s what that meant, right? Or bi, or queer, or _something._ Sunflower liked girls. She liked _girls._ Like _that,_ like kisses, and hands in hair, prom-posals and shared straws— all of that, Sunflower did that, or wanted to do that, with _girls._ Harriet’s hands were shaking. She stared at them like they belonged to someone else. She felt like a claymation figurine. Her animators weren’t paying attention, staring off somewhere else, as they jolted her about, and Harriet felt halfway to throwing up, this time without aid.

But she also felt kind of like a paper lantern, suddenly unfolded, stretched out, pretty and delicate, and, all at once, lit up, from the inside out. She just had to be loosed, now, to drift up into the sky— weightless, and illuminating, a sight to be beheld, where moments ago she was tucked away, just a flat, dull thing, unremarkable and easily damaged.

All this time, every word she’d typed, every time Sunflower had made her laugh, and cringe, and stare at nothing, lost in thought— she was _gay._ And she’d said it like Harriet already knew. Like it was something understood between them— written into the agreement they’d both signed into, when they started talking like this, open and honest and absurd.

Harriet thought maybe she should be upset, or afraid, or weirded out, or something, whatever. She wasn’t— she was… stunned. She thought of the moment, all those years ago, in the dress shop. Her mom had come out from the changing room to stand in front of the tall, three-way mirrors, and Harriet, slouched and angry and silent in her chair, sat up, without realizing she was doing it, her posture suddenly impeccable as she stared at her mom. She’d been so upset about Anne getting remarried— she’d dreaded every part of the process, letting herself be dragged like a dog to the vet to even go along to that fitting. But the moment she saw her mom standing there, in that dress, smiling and easy and so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, it clicked. And suddenly she was so happy— for her mom, for herself, for Gemma and her step-dad and for love, in general, for the world— she forgot she’d ever been hurt, or angry; that she’d ever for a second wished this wedding wouldn’t happen.

Sunflower had attached a photo at the end of the email. Harriet clicked the attachment, and laughed, shocked and delighted. It was a photo taken from inside a classroom, angled up toward the front of the room, so Sunflower had probably been half-obscuring her phone with her desk. Presumably, a teacher was in the shot, but most of the photo was a hand, blurry from how close it was to the lens— but the gesture it was making was unmistakable. She was flipping the bird.

Harriet mimicked the gesture toward the mirror, making faces at herself, collapsing into half-hysterical laughter. She closed her laptop and leapt off the bed, stripping down and wriggling into jeans and a sweatshirt. She grabbed her phone, already halfway out the door, and skipped down the stairs as she texted Louise.

“I’m going out!” she shouted, unnecessarily, as she passed Anne.

“What— you— bring pepper spray! And don’t forget your curfew!”

Harriet waved and slammed the door shut behind her. She was humming Metro Station under her breath, a song Gemma used to scream along to, in middle school, during her scene phase. “Control.”

Her phone buzzed with Louise’s reply. _Where?_


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! hope u enjoy <3

_Sunflower,_

_I ate breakfast at home this morning— I mean, properly sat down at the table with a bowl of cereal, with chopped banana on top and everything. My mom looked like she was about to pass out from happiness. Normally that would’ve pissed me off, even though I know she means well. But today I was like— yeah, right? I’m doing it. Go me._

_I’m doing the other thing, too, like you said. Taking the control back. Just little things, but I’m doing it, and I’m doing it on my own, you know? Why is it anyone’s business if I’m doing what I want on my own time?_

_I feel like Ferris Bueller. Don’t you think he really had the right idea? I mean, minus the gratuitous musical number. Sorry to Ferris and Emma Stone in_ Easy A, _but I truly despise gratuitous musical numbers. Seriously, if someone serenaded me, I would egg their house. 80s punishment for an 80s crime._

_I saw my sister the other day. It was weird— she sort of said something along the lines of what you’ve been saying, about enjoying myself right now. You’re not my sister, are you? I mean, she doesn’t even go to our school anymore, but seriously, if you’re my sister, tell me now, OK? And also I’m so stealing your pink velour shirt for catfishing me. Not cool._

_I kind of thought about telling her, then. Maybe. I don’t_ want _to, exactly, but… I kind of felt like maybe I could. I mean, like it was in the realm of things that could possibly happen. Which it’s never been before. I think you had a lot to do with that, to be honest. So thanks?_

_And thank you for saying it counts. I think you’re right. And on that— you’ve come out to at least three people now. Thanks for making me one of them._

_Peony_

“I’ve got it,” Zaina said. “You’re reading _Fifty Shades._ E-books. Am I right?”

“Ew, Z.”

“OK, some better erotica, then. Something involving werewolves?”

Harriet leveled her with an unimpressed look.

“Well, what other reason is there for grinning at your phone like an idiot all the time, especially since I _know_ you’re not texting—”

“Hey, babe,” Jesse slipped his arm around her waist, kissing the top of her head. Harriet felt her cheeks heat as Zaina raised a brow at her.

“It was just a meme,” Harriet said.

“What was just a meme?” Jesse asked.

“Zaina was wondering why I was smiling at my phone.”

Jesse laughed. “Why so suspicious, Z? Think frog’s cheating on me or something?”

Harriet laughed, high-pitched and strange, and Jesse laughed easily along with her, as Zaina raised both brows, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Niall walked past. “Niall!” Harriet called out, too loud. He stopped and turned toward her, obviously confused.

“Yeah?”

“Hi.”

He quirked his head like a dog. “Hi?”

“Hey,” Zaina said, smiling at him, suspicion finally wiped from her face. “What’s up? That hike was fun. Jean’s nice.”

Niall smiled back at her, genuine and clearly perky at the mention of his girlfriend. “Yeah, right? She’s the best.”

“We should all hang out again some time.”

He nodded, slow and sort of bemused as he glanced between Zaina and Harriet, who smiled at him as best she could. “Yeah, uh, sure.”

Louise came up behind him, walking slow like she was approaching a pack of wild animals. “Hey, Ni.” She looked around the rest of the group, her eyes landing finally on Harriet, her mouth tugging up a little in one corner. “Hey.”

Harriet raised a hand in greeting, then dropped it hurriedly to her side.

“Hey, Louise, nice to see you,” Jesse said, friendly as anything.

“Zaina was just saying we should all hang out again,” Liam offered.

Louise nodded, her gaze darting to him and back to Harriet. “Sure. Any time.”

*

“Um, two Boston creams, one— um, the Halloween one? No— yeah, that one, thank you. And, um, two hot chocolates. Right?”

Louise nodded, grinning, leaning her elbow on the center console.

“Yeah. That’s it. Thank you.”

Harriet pulled forward, licking her lips. Louise turned the radio back up, and bobbed her head side to side. Harriet looked at her, and forward again, laughing in a little burst like a water balloon landing on pavement.

“What?” Louise was grinning— Harriet didn’t even have to look at her again to know.

“Nothing.”

“Whaaat?”

“Your dancing.”

Louise sat up, and scooted forward, dancing more thoroughly, involving her entire body in the jagged little bobbing and swaying, and Harriet laughed again, longer this time, as Louise grinned over at her. “What? Like this? You don’t like it?”

“No, no, it’s great.”

“I should be on tiktok, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“I could be a K-pop star, probably.”

“No, definitely.” Harriet laughed again, shaking her head, and turned as she pulled up to the pick-up window. She handed over the cash and took the greasy bag, handing it and one of the hot chocolates over to Louise with hasty movements, nearly spilling on her, so Louise barked a laugh of protest.

“Thank you,” Harriet rushed out, “keep the change.”

“Thank you!” Louise called out as Harriet pulled quickly away. She laughed. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Harriet said. “I just hate drive-throughs.”

“Yeah, apparently.”

Harriet glanced back at the Dunkin’ Donuts as they pulled away, like she might catch another glimpse of Keelie, the sophomore cheerleader who could never keep her pony tails high, through the side of the restaurant. She drove until they reached the dirt lot a couple blocks away, and pulled in, shading them in the cover of the trees, though they hardly needed it, with the sky dark and the streetlights as sparse as they were.

“Here you are, ma’am,” Louise said, handing Harriet the Halloween donut.

Harriet smiled, soft, and took it, careful to grab it with the napkin, so the grease wouldn’t touch her fingers. Louise, meanwhile, was licking her fingers already, holding one Boston cream in each hand, and balancing her hot chocolate precariously in her lap.

Harriet laughed. “Louise. That’s going to spill.”

“Nah.”

“Yes.”

“No way—” Louise cried out as the hot chocolate _did_ spill, and scrambled to grab at it, barred by the donuts in her hands. Harriet, laughing and trying not to spill her own, set her donut down on the center console and reached out with a quick hand, righting the hot chocolate and pulling it out from between Louise’s legs.

Their gazes met, and Louise blushed. Harriet blanched, and shoved the drink in a cupholder, turning to face the windshield.

“Um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’ll Venmo you for the— you know.”

Harriet shook her head fast. “It was like three dollars. Don’t worry about it.”

Louise cleared her throat. “Can you—” She jutted her chin out to the bag, and Harriet reached in for the pile of napkins, shoving them toward Louise without looking at her again.

“Thanks.”

Harriet sighed and settled down in her seat, blowing carefully on her hot chocolate and taking a slow sip.

Louise took a huge bite of one of her donuts and groaned. Harriet looked at her, raising a brow and trying not to grin. “Perfection,” Louise said. “I’m so glad to be living in the time of donuts.”

“Is that what this is?”

“Absolutely. Look how easily we got these. Just pop in, pop out. Whenever we want. Making donuts yourself is probably, like, hours of labor, and they’re probably not even good.”

Harriet laughed. “I’ve made apple fritters before. They came out pretty well.”

Louise’s eyes went wide. “ _Really?_ ”

Harriet shrugged.

“Can you make me some?”

Harriet laughed. “I thought you just said you prefer drive-through donuts.”

“I didn’t say that. Who said that?” Louise sat up straight again, looking around her with an expression of faux confusion. Harriet giggled, shaking her head.

“I’ll make you some. You can help, if you want.”

Louise smiled at her, her eyes going soft at the edges. “Really?”

Harriet licked her lips and shrugged again, looking down at her hands in her lap, running her thumb over the ridges in the lid of her cup.

Louise leaned forward, dropping crumpled napkins into the open cupholder, and reached up by Harriet’s cheek— Harriet went stiff, and Louise tapped the little plastic cherry hanging from Harriet’s earlobe, sending it swinging.

“I like your earrings.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said, almost in a whisper.

Louise reached up higher, to the little hoop in Harriet’s cartilage, embellished with a heart. She sort of held it, between two fingers, so her skin brushed Harriet’s ear— she was sticky, despite the napkins, and Harriet shuddered, both in body and breath, and ducked her head, so Louise had to pull her hand quickly away to prevent ripping the ring right out.

Harriet looked up again, touching her own ear, turning the earring carefully. “Your hands are dirty,” she said. “You’re gonna give me an infection.”

Louise, still close, darted her gaze from Harriet’s ear to her eyes, and down— she sighed and leaned back into her seat. “We wouldn’t want that.”

*

“Where are your gloves?”

Harriet looked up at her mother’s questioning look, where she stood with her hands wrapped around an oversized mug.

“What?”

Anne nodded toward Harriet’s hands. “You’ll get blisters.”

Harriet looked down at the gardening tools in her bare hands. Her mother was right, of course. She examined her hands, and blisters had formed already.

“I guess I’m distracted.”

Anne smiled. “You’ve been going out a lot lately. Zaina’s keeping you busy, huh?”

Harriet stared at her. “Yeah,” she said. “Jesse, too.”

“Right, right. How is he?” Anne sipped from her drink, looking out over the yard.

Harriet brushed dirt off her hands and pushed herself up, crossing over to the little plastic chest where she kept her tools. “He’s fine.”

Anne looked at her. “Just fine?”

Harriet shrugged.

“Is everything all right with you two?”

Harriet turned her head fast. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Anne smiled. “I’m just asking, honey. Don’t have a conniption.”

“Everything’s fine.” Harriet pulled her gloves on and lowered herself back to the dirt. “Everything’s great.”

“Well. Good. Have him over for dinner soon, all right?”

Harriet shoved her trowel into the dirt, ripping weeds out at the root as her chest tightened like a corset being pulled taut.

“Harriet?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sure. Soon.”

Anne gave her a strange look, but she pulled the sliding glass door shut behind her, and Harriet let out a breath, visible in the cold evening air of autumn. She pulled a glove off and closed her eyes, burying her hand in the soft dirt. She looked at her hand when she pulled it back— at the dirt, deep under her long nails. She flexed her fingers and pulled her glove back on.

*

Zaina pulled her lollipop out of her mouth with a cinematic pop. She stretched, the lollipop dangling between her fingers like a cigarette, and her cheerleading skirt rode up, revealing a little dimple on her thigh. Harriet poked the stick of her own lollipop in that divot, and Zaina squealed and slapped her away, grinning.

“I’m still mad at you for quitting, you know.”

Harriet stuck her lollipop back in her mouth and raised innocent brows at Zaina.

“Senior year,” Zaina said, shaking her head. “And you ditch me. I hate you sometimes.”

“You love me,” Harriet said around the candy.

“I just don’t get it,” Zaina said, obviously frustrated as she leaned back on her elbows on the row of bleachers behind her. “You loved it. _Why_ quit?”

“I didn’t _love_ it,” Harriet admitted. “I loved spending time with _you_ , and the girls. But you know the sport was always your thing, Z.”

“So, what? You don’t love spending time with us anymore?”

Harriet sighed. “I just didn’t feel like spending my entire senior year on campus, OK? Senior year’s supposed to be fun and easy, right? I just wanted free time.”

“So what are you doing with it?”

Harriet glanced over at the parking lot. Niall and Louise were still there, messing around on skateboards by Niall’s car. Louise’s hood fell down as she did a kick-flip, and Harriet could see her laughing from here.

“Harriet.”

She looked at Zaina, who was looking down, something unreadable writ in the wrinkle between her brows as she kicked at the metal beneath her, sending out a metallic ringing sound.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Harriet poked her lollipop into Zaina’s thigh dimple. Zaina squealed again, and slapped at her more ferociously. “I’m all sticky now, you bitch!”

Harriet laughed and leaned back, away from her, pushing her away with a heeled boot.

Zaina was called back down to practice. She stood, sighing, and handed Harriet her lollipop. She paused, and looked down at her. “I’m just saying,” she said, kicking lightly at Harriet’s shin, “I miss you.”

Harriet smiled. “You see me every day.”

“Yeah, Harri, but…” she trailed off, frustrated again. “Something’s different.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not mad at me for something, are you?”

“What? No.”

“You’d tell me if you were?”

Harriet nodded, confused.

Zaina sighed, waved her off, and turned, rushing down the bleachers and back onto the field. Harriet pulled out her phone.

_Peony,_

_You caught me, sis. Sorry. Please don’t shred my shirt. You know how I love pink._

_I’m doing it, too. Isn’t it amazing how something can feel so fruitless, like a total waste of time, and at the same time, like it’s kind of… like, what living’s all about? Like the only thing that’s even worth it? I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy, but I kind of feel like those “it’s the journey not the destination” people kind of know what they’re talking about._

_Whoa. Coming out. I didn’t even realize I was. I sort of… thought you knew? And… I thought I knew, too. About you. I guess that was wishful thinking._

_Stoked to hear about your breakfast escapades. Next stop chocolate chip pancakes from Benny’s. No? Too much too fast? OK, I’ll eat them for you. Since you insist._

_Hey, tell me if you do ever tell your sister, OK? I’ve got a big musical number all worked out to celebrate. I’m thinking of this for my costume for it. Thoughts?_

_Sunflower_

There was a picture attached. A Baymax costume, from _Big Hero 6,_ hanging on the back of a bedroom door plastered in band posters— The Killers, The Stone Roses, Oasis. Harriet grinned at Sunflower’s predictability, and let her eyes drift back up to the text of the email. _Wishful thinking._ Harriet swallowed and stuck both her and Zaina’s lollipops in her mouth simultaneously. She walked down the bleachers and toward the field, and waved to catch Jesse’s attention.

He jogged over, sweaty and grinning. “Hey, babe! What’s up?”

She pulled the lollipops out. Jesse raised his brows. She smirked. “You wanna come over for dinner tonight? My mom’s been asking to see you.”

“Awww, Anne. Gotta love that woman. Sure, I’m down. Practice’ll be over in like thirty.”

She nodded. “I’ll wait.”


	14. Chapter 14

“We really should all hang out as a group again.”

Louise screwed up her mouth around the straw of her Big Gulp. “Sure.”

Harriet raised a brow. “You don’t think we should?”

Louise grinned. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well?”

“I just think your friends and mine are different.”

“You only have one friend.”

“So do you.”

Harriet was going to argue that point, but she realized Louise was kind of right. She hadn’t really hung out with anyone on the squad since she’d quit, outside of parties. Still, “I have Jesse, too. And Liam.”

“Right. Yeah. Jesse.”

Harriet glanced at Louise and away. “Zaina’s cool,” she said after a beat. “You guys seemed to get along, the other day.”

“Yeah, we did.” Louise sort of laughed. “I don’t know— I didn’t mean— I just meant we run in different circles, is all. I’m not a cheerleader, is what I meant.”

“So you keep saying.” Harriet frowned around the last of her Airhead. She thought she sort of knew what Louise was trying to say. But the point remained that Harriet wasn’t a cheerleader, either, not anymore. Maybe what Louise _meant_ was true of her, too. That she didn’t fit in. Maybe her nicely etched slot had been screwed up, somehow, and now she just couldn’t seem to make the shape of herself latch in with the others like it used to before. Before last year. Before _this_ year. Or maybe she never really fit as well as she thought she had.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Louise said. “We could all hang out again. That sounds good. Let’s do that.”

They crossed the parking lot in silence and were just going to turn up the street, back to where they’d parked by the bakery, when they felt water droplets on their faces— by the time they’d looked up to confirm that it was, indeed, raining, the rain had turned into a downpour. They ran, screeching and laughing, toward the church. The door was unlocked when Harriet tried the knob— she flung it open and urged Louise in before her, still laughing as she pulled the heavy door shut and fell against it, dripping and heaving with giddy surprise.

Harriet closed her eyes for a second, letting a last little cough of a laugh escape her, then looked at Louise and just grinned, easy and wide.

Louise stepped forward, so close already that it was more like she sort of leaned, or _rocked_ , like an old porch chair, and suddenly she was right in front of Harriet, right up in front of her face, so their noises actually brushed and a puff of her warm breath fanned out across Harriet’s rain-cold skin.

Harriet put a hand up to push her away, but somehow she ended up just sort of— resting it. On Louise’s chest. Louise’s gaze was locked in with Harriet’s, but it dipped to her mouth. Then it dipped lower, to Harriet’s hand basically fondling her, and Harriet made a little squeak of a noise and jolted sideways, and away.

“Sorry,” Harriet said. “Sorry.”

They could still hear the rain pounding on the roof of the church like they were standing in a cave behind a waterfall. Harriet felt Louise’s gaze on her as she stared at the crucifix mounted over the altar. She never went to church, growing up. But when she was around nine or ten, she and Zaina used to dare each other to go bursting through the church doors during a service, yelling, “Sanctuary!” and clasping their chests with thespian airs of suffocation. Anne called her a little heathen when they received a polite phone call about it from the reverend, but she kind of grinned around the word like maybe it was a compliment.

Harriet stared at Jesus, mounted on the wall, and tried to think it at him, like maybe he’d hear her, and give her an understanding look. _Sanctuary. Sanctuary._

They waited for the worst of the rain to let up before running back to Harriet’s car, but by the time she’d dropped Louise off at home and driven back to her own house, it was pouring again. She sat silently in the driver’s seat, listening to crash of the water on the metal roof, and leaned her head against the wheel, honking it briefly before jumping back and tilting her head against the seat again with a drawn-out groan. Maybe the street would flood, and the flood would carry her away. She waited for it for a long moment, before finally getting out and running inside.

*

“Yellow is so not my color.” Zaina sighed and threw Liam’s raincoat— which she’d been wearing, of course, because she refused to ever dress appropriately for the weather— onto his kitchen counter, before pulling herself up alongside it. “I’m so ready for this,” she said. “I hate everyone else’s parties.”

“Totally,” Harriet agreed, fixing her hair in the reflection of the oven as the guys came in from the car loud as ever, arms full-up of paper bags stuffed full of snacks and contraband liquor purchased for them by Jesse’s stoner cousin who worked at the comic book store.

“Alhamdulillah that Liam’s parents have a happy marriage,” Zaina said. “My parents would die before they’d go away for a weekend alone.”

“I know, right?” Harriet straightened and accepted the cheek-kiss Jesse leaned down to give her before he rubbed his hands together over-excitedly and started going about making guacamole.

“The lime, babe,” Harriet reminded him once he’d rounded up his ingredients and was staring at them with a look of confusion. He pointed at her and grinned. Harriet skirted around the island and settled with Zaina in front of Liam’s flat screen, sprawling out across his white leather couches.

“Don’t you love our men?” Zaina said. “Regular househusbands.” She blew a kiss to Liam, who winked as he sang loudly along with Alanis Morissette. Zaina snorted and turned back around, nudging Harriet with her foot. “H?”

“Hm? Yeah?”

“Where are you right now?” Zaina sighed and pushed herself up, sitting upright and grabbing for the remote. “You’re being such a space cadet today.” She looked at Harriet with wide eyes. “Do you not _want_ to throw a party?”

Harriet laughed. “No. Of course I do, Zaina, chill.”

“I know clean up was a lot last time, but I’m totally making the frosh girls handle it tomorrow, I told you that, right?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’m fine, Z. I’m just—” She slipped her phone out of her pocket and chewed on her bottom lip. She looked up at Zaina again. “Should I invite Louise and Niall, do you think?”

“’Course,” Zaina said, propping her feet up on the coffee table and settling on cable— one of the _Twilight_ movies was on, and she let it play.

Harriet stared down at her phone. She tapped her finger nervously against the case, staring at the messages app, before finally tapping her email, instead. She’d never responded to Sunflower, after all.

_Sunflower,_

_Terrible costume choice, please reconsider. Also fairly certain my sister doesn’t own that, so I’m going to assume you were kidding about being her. But who knows, everyone has their secrets._

_How did you know that you liked girls?_

Harriet stared at the open draft, her heart thudding in her chest like an angry houseguest pounding on the front door.

“What’re you working so hard on, there?” Harriet threw her phone down hard on the couch as Jesse wrapped his arms around her neck from behind, so it bounced and landed face-up on the carpet. She scrambled to grab it and tucked it under her butt, her pulse racing as she forced a smile over her shoulder.

“Nothing,” she said, and kissed his arm placatingly as he made a confused sound and Liam belted the chorus to “Not the Doctor” at an ear-piercing volume and pitch.

“Liam!” Zaina shouted. “We could do without noise complaints before the party’s even started, babe!”

“You love it!” Liam yelled, and Zaina just giggled as she tossed a bemused look Harriet’s way.

When Harriet was able to check her phone discreetly, she discovered that she’d sent the email as it was. She elected to ignore the way her heart dropped into her stomach and exploded there, and instead fired off a text to Louise inviting her and Niall to the party, and threw her phone onto the other couch, focusing all her attention onto _Twilight_ as Liam put a chicken in the oven and switched to Kate Bush.

*

Louise was staring at her phone, worrying her lip between her thumb and her finger when Harriet found her.

“Hey,” Harriet said, smiling, relaxed and happy with a light buzz and her favorite cherry barrettes holding her hair back from her face. “You came.”

Louise pocketed her phone and smiled back. “Hey. Yeah. Thanks for inviting me. I mean, us.”

Harriet nodded, still smiling and easy, and said nothing else until Louise raised a brow and let out a little laugh. “You a little tipsy there, Styles?”

Harriet held up her hand in the universal “just a bit” sign, squinting one eye. “Un peu,” she said. “You?”

“Not yet.”

“Can I get you something?”

Louise grinned wider and pushed off the wall. “Sure. Lead the way.”

Harriet grabbed her hand and pulled her through the throng. When Louise had a drink in her hand, Harriet led them to the living room, where Zaina quickly dragged them into a game of two truths and a lie. Louise was made to go first.

“Um, OK… so… I have four sisters,” she held up the plastic cup in her hand, “this is my first drink— I mean, ever— and I… don’t know the words to ‘Mr. Brightside.’”

Zaina cackled. “I _know_ that’s not your first drink, Tomlinson. We’ve partied together before, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Louise shrugged. “My bad. I lose, I guess.” She chugged the rest of her drink and grinned at the room at large as everyone laughed.

Harriet stared at her. “So the other two are true?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. That’s how it works, right? Two truths? One lie?” Louise looked around for confirmation and received nods of agreement.

“I can’t believe you don’t know the words to ‘Mr. Brightside,’” Liam said. “That’s, like, un-American.”

Louise nodded forlornly. “I know. It’s my cross to bear.” Zaina snorted a laugh.

The game went on, but Harriet just kept staring at Louise, feeling like she’d swallowed a bee.

Louise noticed and raised her brows. “What?”

“Nothing,” Harriet said, turning quickly away, feeling her face flame. It could be a coincidence. It was probably a coincidence. It was totally, definitely a coincidence.

When she looked back at Louise at last, she was worrying her lip again, staring at her phone. Harriet glanced at her screen, as discreetly as possible. And there it was. Not even signed off, just sent mid-draft, like an unfinished thought. _How did you know?_

Harriet was pretty sure she was gonna throw up. She pushed herself off the ground and almost teetered backward, but Jesse, appearing as if from nowhere, caught her just in time. “Whoa there, babe!” He laughed. “You all right?”

“’m fine.”

“Maybe you’ve had enough for tonight,” he said, fond and gentle as he brushed a hand over her hair, careful not to dislodge her barrettes. He was always so careful with her. “Should we get you some water?”

Harriet nodded, leaning into him, burying her face in his chest. He smelled like Old Spice and guacamole, and just the faintest hint of that same laundry detergent his mom had been using since they were kids. He smelled familiar and safe. She tilted her head up and kissed him, long and lazy, until her stomach had settled and her legs felt firm beneath her, not wobbly and loose like a newborn calf. He ran the palm of his hand up and down the small of her back, the soft fabric of her dress. When they parted, she angled her head just barely, vaguely, to the side, and glanced down at Louise, almost through her peripheral vision. Louise was staring at them. At her. And she didn’t look away, when their gazes met. She just kept staring until Harriet turned away again, and pulled Jesse off toward the kitchen.

*

_Peony,_

_At first I thought everyone thought about girls like I do. When you’re a kid friendship is like this crazy, magical thing, and you’re so shameless about loving your friends, you know? You’re always hugging and holding hands and talking about each other. It was easy to blend in, without even realizing that’s what I was doing. It was easy not to know I was different._

_I think I figured it out when it started to hurt. One of my friends came over one day, and she was crying over this boy. We were nine or ten, I don’t know. She was so upset about this boy, about something he’d said to her. And she never got upset like that when girls were mean, you know? When girls were mean, she just got mad._

_That’s when I realized. Girls hurt me the way that boy hurt her. Like a punch that was meant to hit you in the gut, but instead it goes straight for your heart._

_They still do that. I still let them. You’d think you’d learn, you know? But no. That little lesbian crying over a girl with pigtails and teeth missing and the girl I am right now are exactly the same. Nothing’s changed. It’s so stupid. But yeah. I guess that’s how I know._

_Sunflower_

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi [on tumblr](http://shesarealphony.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> [fic post](http://shesarealphony.tumblr.com/post/619753787560738816/strawberry-lipstick-state-of-mind-by-zeldasayre)
> 
> [playlist](http://open.spotify.com/playlist/56TKjgXD2M2VsgWVzHk40Z?si=dx_22OpOR7-XhwreVm-pwQ)


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